Remembering the Darkness
by Iwillsingyoulullabys
Summary: Sequel to The Darkness Has Won. Harry Potter has won the Battle this time, and yet Hermione is still depressed and doesn't know why. What is he keeping from her? Enjoy! xx
1. It's turned so cold

The Battle was won. The room was filled with glorious colour. Sparks being fired from people's wands, their cries of happiness encircling her.

Hermione found the whole thing a garish affair.

Maybe it was because people had died. But Hermione did not think of them.

Maybe it was because she was tired. But Hermione did not sleep.

Later, not even the warm comforting hand on her shoulder could stop the emptiness that she felt inside. The hopelessness she felt. Hermione knew that she was grieving, but it was not what everyone else was.

When Harry came towards them, he seemed hesitant. Hermione realised that she and Ron were holding hands and figured that was the cause.

'Are you, are you feeling, alright?' Harry questioned cautiously.

'Oi.' Ron laughed, thumping him on the arm. 'Just because she's going out with me, doesn't mean that she's lost a few brain cells all of a sudden.'

Harry smiled, but only faintly.

'It feels like I've lost something.' Hermione frowned. 'But I just-'

'You've lost a friend and gained a partner.' Ron summed it up proudly. 'I feel the same way. Right, Harry?'

'Yeah.' Harry whispered. 'Right.'

* * *

><p>At some point in the celebrations, Harry wandered off and, frightened of what he might do; Ron and Hermione went out looking for him. Ron volunteered to go to the room that held the dead in case Harry might be mourning in there, while Hermione moved along to Dumbledore's old office.<p>

The stone carving was already moved to one side, and she climbed up the circled wooden stairs. Sure enough, Harry stood there frowning; his jaw clenched the way it did when he was trying not to cry. Gently, Hermione went to him and took Harry in her arms. At first he resisted, but as she offered soothing words, he began to break down and cry. How long they stayed like that she did not know, but after quite some time Harry managed to pull himself together enough to say. 'I've got to go and get Teddy. I'm his godfather. I've got to look after him.'

Hermione nodded and guided him towards the fireplace. Harry still looked like he was going to be sick. Soothingly, Hermione wiped away his tears with her fingertips. 'Don't let Teddy see you looking so sad.' She said softly. 'He needs you to be strong for him.'

Harry nodded and massaged his temple. 'Yeah,' he said hoarsely. 'You're right.' As Hermione turned to go, he grabbed onto her arm. 'Don't leave me?' He pleaded. 'I can't do this on my own.'

Hermione was in shock. Not even after the death of Sirius had she seen Harry so broken.

'Of course.' She consoled him. 'Of course. I'll just let Ron know where we're going.'

Soon, Hermione's silver otter was flying off to Ron. She took Harry's hand and together they were on their way.

Andromeda Tonks opened the door. She looked like she'd aged about sixty years since they'd last seen her under a year ago. She was a woman with a veil of sadness about her that would just never lift. She did not speak, it seemed like she was doing whatever she could to keep her mouth closed.

Harry dashed passed her, while Hermione carefully ushered Andromeda into the living room after him.

Teddy was sitting on the floor in his pyjamas playing with the stuffed lion Harry had sent to him on his birth. His hair was a shock of tufty black today, but the eyes that surveyed these newcomers were the very image of his father's. It was the first time that Harry had met his godson and he carefully knelt before the baby boy so not to startle him. Teddy giggled and chewed on his chubby fist.

'Ra!' He said, holding out the lion to Harry.

'Roar!' Harry breathed back looking at his godson in wonder.

Beside her, Hermione felt Andromeda tremble with emotion. Without speaking, she slipped an arm around the woman's waist and held her.

Harry picked up Teddy and turned to Andromeda, his features set determinedly with the effort of trying not to cry.

'I need to take care of Teddy.'

'No.' Andromeda sounded braver than Hermione had expected her to. 'No, he is in my care. I am his grandmother.'

'He'll want for nothing.'

'He'll want for nothing with me too.'

Harry cuddled Teddy to him closer, his eyes brimming with tears. Andromeda was now shaking. 'Please.' She whispered. 'My family are gone. He is all I have left.'

'Harry.' Hermione carefully went to him and laid a hard on his arm. 'You mean well, but Teddy needs his grandmother. She'll look after him.'

'You can see him as many times as you want.' Andromeda promised. 'My son-in-law and daughter loved you. He is your godson. I will never stop you from coming to our home.'

Harry nodded. Gently, he kissed Teddy on the forehead and handed him back to Andromeda.

'I'm sorry.' He sounded lost, confused. 'I didn't mean to- I just.'

'I understand.' Andromeda interrupted him. 'You want what is best for my grandson, and for that I cannot thank you enough.'

Harry and Hermione stayed for another hour or two before Teddy began to fall asleep and was put to bed. As they were leaving, Andromeda grabbed onto Hermione's sleeve.

She looked to the older woman, ready for her to say something, but she seemed helpless and lost for words. Hermione could almost see them clouding up her mind, but she would not let them spill. Nonetheless, despite her not asking the question, Hermione knew that Andromeda wanted the answer.

'Lupin held her.' Hermione said softly. 'He was there.'

* * *

><p>It was Fred Weasley's funeral. The Weasley family were all down in the kitchen, but Harry and Hermione had remained upstairs, wanting to let them all have their own moment together before they came along.<p>

Harry was struggling with his tie, and it was with an affectionate tut of irritation that Hermione came along to fix it for him. As he stared into her eyes, she noticed how his sparkling emerald eyes had turned to a haunted dark green. He looked at her as if he could see something that she couldn't.

'There.' She smiled at him. 'All done.' Hermione turned away from him, and together they looked at one another in the mirror. Gently, Harry looped his arms around her slim waist, and she leaned her head back against his shoulders.

'Harry,' she asked, 'Harry, what's wrong with me?'

The question had been tying on her tongue for quite a while now. It made her feel so guilty to feel so unhappy. Why was she going around with the same facial expression as Mrs. Weasley? She had lost a child, Hermione had lost a friend. The two things couldn't compare.

For a moment, Harry hesitated. But then he swallowed and said bluntly.

'Nothing.'

'Harry. I feel weird. It's like I've been asleep for the longest time, and now I'm so confused. What's wrong with me?'

'Nothing.'

'I know that you know.'

'Nothing.'

It was something. Hermione always knew when he was lying. But Harry had only ever lied to her about little things. Homework mainly, and whether or not he'd done it. Otherwise he told the truth. They trusted each other with everything. If he was keeping things from her, then it was serious.

* * *

><p>She was shivering. The air was unusually cold for summer, and yet no one else seemed to feel it. Beside her, Ron looked at her concerned.<p>

'You alright?' He whispered quietly, careful not to disturb the eulogy's being read of Nymphandora Tonks and Remus Lupin.

Hermione nodded. And then she shook her head, tears suddenly springing to her eyes.

Carefully, Ron shifted closer towards her and slipped his hand in hers, the other arm wrapping around her shoulders.

'I'm so cold.'

As Hermione nestled into Ron's shoulder, with him kissing the top of her head, Harry Potter looked over at his friends with the same haunted look as Hermione. He was cold too.


	2. It's past your bedtime

_**Hey everybody, I'm back! I've been absolutely shameless in just abandoning my writing, please forgive me. Well, enjoy! xx**_

Blood. Scarlet red dripping blood. Hers. Pain. Her body contorted as she screamed in agony.

Tears. Dripping down her cheeks into the cuts on her face. Flashes of green light. Surrounding her, but never quite hitting her. Red eyes. Blood.

She awoke with a start.

Her heart was beating frantically, her skin was soaked with cold sweat and yet she felt as if she was on fire. Heart still pounding, Hermione gave a little gasp for air as she tried to remember the events of the past two years rather than her dream. Beside her, Ron stirred.

'Hey,' he mumbled, 'you alright?'

'Yeah.' It was still difficult to breathe. 'Bad dream. That's all.'

'The same one?'

Hermione was startled. She hadn't told him about the dream, let alone that it was always the same one.

As if reading her mind, he grinned apologetically. 'You always have the same reaction; I just put two and two together. I'm right though, aren't I?'

'Yes.' She was still uncertain about telling him. 'Yes. It's always the same one. For two years now, since=-' Hermione tailed off, she didn't need to continue. Everyone knew what had happened two years before.

Ron nodded and looked at her to carry on. When she didn't, he cleared his throat. 'What do you dream about?'

But Hermione could only bite her lip.

The next morning when Hermione came downstairs into the kitchen, Ron was already up and reading The Daily Prophet with his bare feet propped up on the dining table. She chose to ignore this when her sights were drawn to the breakfast that he'd prepared for the two of them.

'Morning, Sleeping Beauty.' He winked.

She had to smile. 'Why didn't you wake me?'

'I wanted to get this done for you, didn't I?'

'Thanks. You shouldn't have.'

'It's alright. I left the washing up for you to do.'

Hermione swatted him on the head with a tea towel as she picked up a piece of toast. 'You going into work today?' She asked as she sat on the counter rather than joining him at the table.

Ron grinned. 'Nope. Not today. The Weasley's have got the day off.'

When he didn't elaborate, she nudged him with her foot and in response he kissed her bare leg. 'Fleur's in labour. George phoned about an hour or so ago.'

'Oh how lovely. Are we going to The Burrow?'

'Nah. Mum's doing her pieces about being a grandmother. It's chaos over there. We'd be better off staying here.'

'Oh would we now?' Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'At my house? And what if I don't let you?'

She then began to squeal with laughter as Ron ran to her and carried her back upstairs, tickling her all the way.

By the time the couple emerged later that day, Fleur had had her baby girl and finally Ron deemed it safe enough to go down to St. Mungo's, sure that his mum would have stopped crying by then.

Being Fleur, she had managed to look beautiful all during her pregnancy, and after labour it was no different. The woman was positively glowing, her figure trim with only the smallest bump.

Bitch.

Ginny caught Hermione's eye and grinned, aware that the same thing was going through her head too.

Harry and Ron meanwhile were deeply engrossed in a Quidditch Magazine by the side of the bed, and had only grunted their congratulations before becoming otherwise occupied.

The baby was off having some check up's done under the watchful eye of Mrs. Weasley while Fleur was having a 'well deserved rest'.

'Victorie.' The beautiful woman smiled. 'A fitting name, don't you think, 'arry?'

Harry's green eyes did not even flicker towards her direction, but she was thankfully satisfied by the sound that he made in response to her.

'Ron and I have a present for you.' Hermione grinned as she opened her bag. 'It's not much, but I hope that you like it.'

Hermione had knitted the softest thin grey wool into a small baby hat and had lined it with a slender silk violet ribbon. The same had been done for a shawl, with a handful of dried violets in the centre to keep it smelling fresh. Ron on the other hand had been carving at his work station a small wooden pyramid that in its centre held a small delicate silver bracelet, made in his own hand, with her birthstone in the middle.

'Oh! It is magnifique! Thank you for your kindness. They are beautiful.'

From behind Quidditch Weekly, a pair of ears blushed crimson at the tips. Harry looked up and chortled. 'Hermione, you've finally learned!'

She thumped him with her bag. 'I appreciate that my earlier creations weren't exactly wonderful, Potter, but they are still better than anything that you could do now.'

Laughing, he held his hands up in self-defence.

'We got you something too.' Ginny smiled.

Oh no.

They had a habit of doing this. Harry had too much money for his own good, and Ginny was perfectly happy to take advantage of this. She was a woman who had grown to know good style and never did things by halves now. The girl of no make-up or jewellery and hand-me-down robes was a thing of the past. Ginny was now immaculately styled every day and always made sure that she had the latest fashions in both the Wizarding and the Muggle worlds.

When she produced a large box that held inside an intricate model of a French dolls house – supposedly an exact replica of Fleur's own childhood home in France, Hermione was scarcely surprised. She had learned long ago that Ginny did not mean to do this out of spite; she was still giddy in the early throws of a new found fortune. Harry did not mean to do this either, he just had absolutely no idea what else to spend it on other than spoiling other people. Ron, however, still needed much more convincing. He was embarrassed that he still didn't have much money, whereas his parents and siblings now did. Bill in a senior bank position, Charlie as the owner of several large dragon keeps in Romania, Percy high in power at the Ministry of Magic, George who had his own successful business and Ginny, who had not only secured herself a millionaire, but was now starting a promising career of her own in Quidditch.

Ron was not unsuccessful. He was training alongside Harry to be an auror, and was supporting himself by working for George in the shop – designing, making and selling new products. Hermione thought that he'd done incredibly well for himself. He'd bucked his ideas up since they were at school. Perhaps it was because he knew that he could no longer copy off her notes? She chortled at the thought of it.

'Oh dear, isn't that exquisite?' Mrs. Weasley bustled in quite briskly, holding a large bouquet of flowers in her hands. 'These are from Percy.' She thrust them into Ron's face. 'Be a love and go and find a vase of water to put them in? I don't want them to fade.'

Ron scowled, but he knew his mother too well to refuse. There had been many a conversation about how he was a grown man now and couldn't be bossed around anymore' but the grown man had always lost.

Ginny caught Hermione's eye and grinned.

'Where is Victorie?' Fleur asked. 'Where is my daughter? I miss her.'

'There, there.' Mrs. Weasley soothed, sitting on the bed by her daughter-in-law. 'She's quite alright. Although she did just give the Healer's a bit of a stir just now!'

'Why?' Fleur was startled. 'What is the matter?'

Mrs. Weasley leaned forwards, her warm brown eyes suddenly mischievous. 'Well, when they placed her on the scales she began to cry, as most babies do – it's an unfamiliar surface – and they took her off again, comforted her and put her back on again. It was then that her little hands mimicked claws and she began to screech like a bird!'

Fleur's face was a picture of delight. 'She has inherited the Veela! My grandmother is looking down on her!'

'She's on her way.' Mrs. Weasley promised. 'She gave them quite a fright however; I can assure you.'

Within moments there was a knock on the door and a Healer entered carrying a small bundle.

Hermione had been surprised by Fleur many times. The first was when she began to bathe Bill's wounds after his werewolf stack. The second was when she had been thrown up on by a toddler Weasley cousin just before her wedding, and had managed to laugh it off. But the third time was the most important. After the catastrophic events at the Malfoy Manor, Ron had carried her frail body into Shell Cottage and had spent the night by her bedside in a chair, should she ever need anything. One morning, he was reluctantly dragged out by an impatient Harry and was replaced by Fleur.

She sat by Hermione and took her hand in hers. Without even needing to say anything, Fleur had invited such a confidence in Hermione that led her to say everything that had been clouding her mind. She told her about the pain, she showed her the scars. She told her what had frightened her the most was the awful look in the Snatcher's eyes. That awful, unhidden look. Fleur did not speak to her at all during her little talk, instead she just held onto her and, at the end of it all, got her to go to sleep and was there when she woke up.

No, Fleur was not the materialistic snob that Hermione had once thought her to be. Well, she was, but she was so much more, in the same way that Hermione was an insufferable know-it-all. And when Hermione saw the look on Fleur's face when she glimpsed again her newborn daughter, Hermione was furthermore convinced that there was more than the eye could see.

The new pair looked so beautiful together, so intricately perfect and at peace together as if they were in a little bubble all on their own. When Hermione looked at Mrs. Weasley, she saw that she was sobbing with joy. When Hermione looked at the men, she saw that they hadn't even looked up from their magazine.

A little while later, Fleur looked at Hermione, who was seated near her, and said. 'Would you like to hold her?'

Of course, she responded that she did.

The bundle was heavier than expected, warmer too. This was not a doll from her childhood; this was a flesh and bone baby/ She had obviously held babies before, many times, but when she held little Victorie, Hermione felt a gain and a loss al at the same time. There was something in her arms, but while it wasn't unpleasant, she wasn't the right shape, she didn't fall into the crook of her arm in the right way. Hermione supposed that this was the same for every woman who wasn't the baby's mother.


	3. Come to me the light is fading

The snow tumbled down from the blue night sky, swirling around Diagon Alley before landing gently on the cobbled steps. Soon, everywhere was covered. The door to The Leaky Cauldron opened, letting out a bright orange light from the fire onto the outside glittering white snow, and Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger tumbled out laughing, a sprig of mistletoe in Ron's hand.

'Gives a kiss.' He pulled at her wrist as she giggled next to him. 'Go on.'

Hermione pressed her lips against his warm cheek and pulled away again. 'You're drunk.'

'So are you.'

'I am no such thing.'

'You're the one who fell under the table.'

The couple fell about laughing, even more so when Ron slipped on a particularly icy patch and fell to the floor. Hermione made to pull him up, but he pulled her down into his kiss once more.

There was a disapproving cough, and an elderly witch stood in front of them, her eyes severe as she surveyed them over her thin glasses.

Hermione buried her face into Ron's shoulder to stop herself from laughing again as Ron looked up cheekily. 'Allo, Mrs. Abbott. Lovely day?'

She did not seem to think so, and after a fashion, the younger people got up chuckling slightly.

When she left, Ron took hold of Hermione's hands. 'They're freezing.' He exclaimed. 'Here.' He held them up to his mouth and gently began to kiss them, rubbing them with his hands as he did so.

Hermione leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes, only opening them when she felt something slip onto her finger.

It was a small silver ring with a small sapphire winking at her.

'Hermione Jean Granger.' Ron began with more seriousness. 'When we were First Years, you were never afraid to insult me. You told me that I had dirt on my nose. You told me that I was saying the spell wrong, and you were never afraid to annoy me. You were never afraid, because you were never shallow enough to be two-faced. When the teachers came to the destroyed girls bathroom and discovered three First Years and an unconscious mountain troll on the floor, any other girl would have burst into tears. But you're not any other girl, you lied for us. Hermione, when most guys propose to the girl that they love, they say that they would go to the end of the world for them. I'm not going to say that. Because I've already done the equivalent. I've walked into a forest filled with enormous man-eating spiders.'

Hermione chuckled through her tears.

'I'm glad for every second that we've spent together, even the ones where we've argued. Because, Hermione, we argue constantly. We annoy each other non-stop. But at the end of the day, we always come home, because we love each other. Hermione Jean Granger, I'm not asking you to marry me because I'm the amazing man you deserve and who can give you everything. I'm asking you to marry me because I know that you take a sugar in your tea, you have a Jackie Collins book in the dust jacket of The Bible. I know that you sing The Beatles in the shower. I know that you pretend that your favourite film is Schindler's List, when actually it's Moulin Rouge. I know that sometimes you wake crying in the night, but I want to always be there. Hermione Jean Granger, you should marry me, purely because I've taken the time to memorise your middle name.'

The answer was simple.


	4. Don't you see the evening star appearing

After the Weasley's and the Granger's had been at one another's throats for the past three months, Hermione firmly told them that she was not going to have a Church wedding or one at The Burrow either. 'But it's tradition', both mothers had wailed.

'But not my tradition.' Hermione said bossily, tying her long brown curls out of her eyes, and the two older women had no choice but to agree.

When the young couple announced their engagement, Harry had handed over ten galleons to Ginny.

'Did you think that we'd never get married?' Ron laughed, punching him on the arm.

'No.' Harry said truthfully. 'I just made the bet to get Ginny off my case; she always said that you two would get married before us at the rate that we were going.'

Ginny shot him a filthy look.

Her fiancé's sister now sat at the kitchen table, idly waving her wand over some of the invitations that caused gold ink to appear and flow into entwining names of the couple and delicate birds and stars. Both Ron and Harry had been dismissed from the kitchen after Harry had piped up that the colour theme should be lavender.

Hermione was not impressed.

'You better hope that it doesn't rain.' Ginny commented. 'It being outside and all. At least with Bill and Fleur they had a tent.'

'Eastwell Manor is gorgeous.' Hermione told her. 'It's the perfect location for a wedding. And anyway, if it does rain then they have more venues inside. I've wanted to get married ever since I was a little girl.'

Ginny grinned. 'Trust you to remember all of this stuff.'

Hermione smiled mischievously as she produced from her bag an old worn brown leather scrapbook. 'It's my wedding', she confessed, 'when I was a bridesmaid for my cousin I grew so envious that they were making all of these plans and so my mother brought me this to keep me quiet and to stop me from intervening and bossing everyone around. I started it when I was five, and whenever I've seen something that I've liked, I've just stuck it in and wrote a little bit about it.'

Ginny was entranced. There was bits of fabric, lace, satin and silk ribbon; dried flowers, recipes for food, sheet music, drawings of the dress and what the groom would wear, photographs or make-up and hairstyles, each getting progressively better and neater as the years went by.

'Oh Hermione, that's beautiful.' She breathed.

Her friend looked pleased. 'Oh do you think so? I was a little bit nervous about showing it to you to tell you the honest truth. My mother is the only other one who has seen it – and potentially my father seeing as he likes going through my stuff'.

'So, you excited to be Mrs. Weasley?'

Hermione mocked a shudder. 'I don't think that I'll ever get used to that. Granger has been my name for so long. Why do the women have to change it? Can't the men? Can't he be Ron Granger?'

There was a pause before the women burst into pearls of laughter.

The warm sun lit the gardens of Eastwell Manor as all of the guests seated themselves on the little white chairs and excitedly chatted to one another. The wizards gasping at the muggles, and the muggles gasping at the wizards. Harry had to laugh.

He was stood beside Ron Weasley. A Ron Weasley who looked more nervous than he had ever seen him, and he had been with him into a forest filled with spiders so that was saying something.

He nudged his best friend.

Ron smiled. 'Sorry. Just thinking.'

'Not having any doubts?'

''Course not. Hermione's the girl for me. But am I the guy for her? I mean, what's to say that she'll walk out on me? What's to say that we'll fight and it'll be really bad this time? What then? What then, Harry?'

Harry blew a raspberry.

'Thanks for the help mate.'

'Anytime.'

Meanwhile, in the building a little while off, Hermione was having the same conversation with her Head Bridesmaid.

'What if I annoy him?' She asked desperately. 'I mean, more so than usual? And what if he annoys me and I take it too far? You know, like I always do?'

'Then don't.' Ginny laughed. 'Come on, Hermione. You've made it this far. Don't give up now just because you're a little bit unsure.'

The guests had still not all arrived and there was a little while to go before the wedding. Ron Weasley checked his watch, and, before Harry could stop him, quickly ran inside and up the stairs and into the bedroom where Hermione was.

The bedroom was empty; the bridesmaids were evidently off changing elsewhere. But the door to the en suite bathroom was ajar and Ron stepped inside.

Hermione sat in the bathtub, her hair piled atop of her head to stop it from getting wet, and wearing a worried frown. When she saw him however, she smiled. 'Isn't it bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?'

'Only when she's wearing the dress.' Ron pointed out, wriggling his eyebrows as a joke at her.

She had the grace to laugh. 'Sorry, I just needed some time to myself. I sent the girls off to get dressed, it won't take me long.'

'You've got all the time in the world.' Her friend and her lover said softly as he knelt beside the bathtub. 'Are you ok?'

'I want to marry you, if that's what you mean.'

'Thank God.'

'But what if we argue?'

There was a pause. Hermione bit her lip awkwardly, aware that this wasn't the most appropriate time to be having this conversation. Ron looked confused too, as if hoping that she would tell him the answer as she used to. When she didn't, he suddenly smiled. 'Then we argue.' He said simply. 'And then we move on and make up. That's life really, isn't it?'

As Hermione walked up the aisle, she was the happiest that she'd been in years. Her family and friends were all around her. For once she felt confident and beautiful in her own skin underneath this dress and the best part was the red haired man who stood at the end of the aisle, wearing the biggest smile in the world.

She scarcely noticed the snake that had slithered down from the branches of the old apple tree.

When she reached him and let go of her father's arm, Ron whispered something to her. Their audience aahed as if it was something romantic and sweet. What he'd actually said was, 'bloody hell, I'm dying for a Firewhiskey'.

And she loved him for it.

The priest went into the vows. Ron looked slightly bemused at some of them as the wizard variations had been left out, but he still managed to keep his tongue. All the while, the couple made funny faces at one another whilst also trying to be as discreet as possible.

That is, at least, until everything went dark.

A cold chill swept over the place, leaving Hermione on her own.

Well, not entirely.

Although all of the seats were now empty and disfigured, and the flowers dead and withered on the ground, the apple tree glowed with exceeding life. And beneath it, holding a juicy red apple towards her, saw the one man that she had thought never to see again. Lord Voldemort.

And then she was back in her wedding, it was light once more, and Ron was still standing there grinning at her. She felt herself say I do. They kissed. It was perfect. They posed for photographs. They chatted with the guests. They danced. And still Hermione felt the uneasy feeling that she was being watched.

Eventually, she plucked up the courage to leave the building and to go back to the apple tree. He was dead. He couldn't hurt her now. She had to go back there for her own sanity. To prove that nothing abnormal was happening.

It was now night time, and though it should have been warm in the summer, Hermione shivered and pulled her wrap around her as she stepped down the cold hard marble steps into the ground below. There was a shadow by the apple tree. A leftover cloak surely? She would go to it, and pick it up, and return it to its owner.

But it was no cloak. Lord Voldemort grinned at her as she stepped closer and closer, believing that, at each step, he would go away. Yet his white face still shone and his red eyes still gleamed. They were almost bewitching.

Soon, she was too close, and Hermione was forced to admit that she needed to turn away and run. But as she was just about to do so, she felt vines come up from the grounds and wrap around her bare ankles and up her legs, holding her down.

'_Hello mudblood_,' although he whispered, Hermione flinched as if he were shouting at her. '_What would you like me to do with you?_'

'Who are you?'

'_Foolish girl. You could have gone free._' It was strange. It felt like a memory. But Voldemort had never before spoken these words to her – had he?

'_Miss Hermione Granger. Alone at last._'

The next thing that she knew it was their wedding night. Confetti was being thrown in her face and camera flashes were going off everywhere. Ron was laughing, so happy, and so proud as he clung onto Hermione and waved goodbye to everyone. She smiled faintly at them all too – suddenly confused. How had she got here? And where was? No. No, it couldn't be.


	5. Come to me rest against my shoulder

Hermione and Ron settled into married life quickly enough. Ron had been steadily moving into her flat all the while that they had been dating; but now as newly-weds they found that the flat wasn't quite big enough to fit their two egos and quickly settled in Kent – close enough to the Granger's to beg them to come and down and do their washing for them when it all grew to be too much for them, and far away enough to beg to be excused from the weekly Sunday Dinners. For getting to The Burrow they had a fireplace for the Floo Powder. The only problem, was barring the Weasley's from their new home.

'Hello, dear.' Mrs. Weasley said, quite warmly, as she bustled into the kitchen, tying her apron around her waist. 'Having a good day so far?'

Hermione was dressed in an old T-Shirt of Ron's and nothing else, the remnants of last nights make-up smudged across her face. Ron, on the other hand, was still snoring in bed.

'Morning, Mrs. Weasley.' Hermione yawned.

'Morning?' Mrs. Weasley gave a light tinkle of a laugh. 'My dear, it's nine o'clock on a Saturday. The day's nearly out. Now, chi-chop, have you and Ron had breakfast?' She glanced around the kitchen where the remains of last night's dinner still lay. Hermione grinned guiltily. 'Well, never mind. A cooked breakfast it is. My Ronniekins needs a cooked breakfast to keep him going strong.' 'Oh, definitely.' Hermione nodded vigorously. 'Um, I'll tidy up and get to it.'

'Nonsense.' Mrs. Weasley began to bustle around, cleaning up the mess with a well-rehearsed flick of her wand. 'I can do it well enough.'

'I wouldn't want to put you out-' She began to protest meekly.

Mrs. Weasley laughed. 'I raised a family of nine, seven of the male variety. I'll have this place spotless in seconds, I can assure you.'

Before marriage, Hermione's home was spotless. There was not a thing out of place. She prided herself in its neatness, yet at the same time its homeliness with various books and photographs scattered around in an organised fashion. Ron was not making any mess, well, any more so than usual and than she had anticipated, she just wasn't spending as much time tidying up anymore.

As if reading her thoughts, Mrs. Weasley smiled. 'I know, dear. The first few months of marriage, the home all pretty much falls apart. When you have a baby, you'll start getting neat again – only, this time it will be the baby making all the mess!'

Hermione's smile was uncomfortable, as blush rose to her cheeks.

Mrs. Weasley leaned forwards in confidence, her eyes twinkling. 'Any signs, yet?'

Hermione swallowed nervously and licked her lips, trying to evade the question. 'Well, Ron and I haven't really talked about it yet. I mean, we are only just newlyweds. I think that we want some time to ourselves first.'

Mrs. Weasley pulled back, clearly disappointed, but continued to busily put things away. Hermione was too stunned by the latest confrontation to even help her. It was only when there was a startled yelp and a clambering back up the stairs, was she drawn out of her daydream.

'Ronald really out to put on a dressing gown if he isn't going to wear pyjamas to bed.' Mrs. Weasley said reprovingly over the fried eggs.

* * *

><p>She awoke with a start.<p>

Her heart was beating frantically, her skin was soaked with cold sweat and yet she felt as if she was on fire. Heart still pounding, Hermione gave a little gasp for air as she tried to remember the events of the past two years rather than her dream. Beside her, Ron stirred.

'Hey,' he mumbled, 'you alright?'

'Yeah.' It was still difficult to breathe. 'Bad dream. That's all.' She burst into tears.

At once Ron had sprung up and had his arms around her, holding her tight. 'Hey, shh.' He said gently. 'Sweetheart, it was just a dream. You're fine, okay? It was just a dream.'

'I just keep on seeing his face.' Hermione whispered. 'All the time, it's always there. I just see his face. And I can feel him on me. I just, I want it to stop Ron- I want it to stop.'

Ron swallowed as his wife dissolved into tears on his bare shoulder. He did not know who she was talking about. At the end of the war, many had had terrible nightmares. He was one of many who was treated for shock. The only problem was that most were now on the road to recovery, but Hermione was still there.


	6. How fast the minutes fly away

Hermione met Harry outside the Church just an hour or so before it was to begin. At once he gave a yelp and covered his eyes.

'Oh, grow up.' She tutted irritably.

'But it's bad luck.' He whined.

'Not for the groom to see the bridesmaid. Come on, Harry, you were raised by muggles, and yet you're nearly as bad as Ron.'

Beside him, the best man grinned at his wife. 'You ready, mate?' He asked Harry.

Harry was as white as a sheet. 'I've never been more terrified.'

'But you've faced dragons!' Hermione exclaimed. 'And so much more! How can you be terrified of such a small thing like marriage?'

'Give me dragons any day.' Harry gulped.

'Harry's worried about upsetting Ginny in case her big brother decides to get involved and punch his lights out.' Ron puffed out his chest with pride.

'It's not that.' Harry swallowed, his eyes hollow. 'I'm worried about what _she'll_ do to _me_. She gives me a bad enough Bat-Bogey-Hex when I leave the toilet seat up. What'll happen if I do something really bad?'

'Like what?' As Ron's ears went red at the tips, his fists clenched.

Harry dropped his voice down to a whisper. 'Forget to take the rubbish out in the morning.'

His best friends howled with laughter.

Ginny didn't have the same nerves, and went down the aisle as confidently as she did everything in life. Behind her, in a dress of scarlet satin, Hermione helped two year old Victorie toddle down the aisle scattering lily petals. It had been Ginny's suggestion so that Harry's parents could still have a part in their big day. When Ginny reached Harry, who looked positively awestruck, she ruffled his combed hair back into its usual messy state.

'Warts and all.' She told him.

Ron and Hermione watched in delight as their best friends and sister danced together for the first time as a married couple. 'To the Potter's.' She snuggled against his shoulder and yawned.

'You getting enough sleep?' He murmured into her head.

Momentarily, she froze. 'I've learned to deal with it, I think.' She whispered. 'I still, I see them. I see them all the time. But, when you're with me, it's like they can't do anything. They just stare at me, waiting for you to go.'

Ron gently kissed her. 'Then I'll stay. I'll always stay.'

But as Ron looked over at the newly-wed couple, he noticed that Harry had in his eye, the same haunted look as Hermione.


	7. And every minute colder

The Burrow was busier than ever at Christmas. Now that five of the siblings had gone off to start their own families, the small home was swarming with people. Mrs. Weasley had been turned into a quivering wreck before the celebrations when she calculated just how many people were going to be there, but when Hermione took her firmly in hand and got her used to the idea of some guests eating in the living room, she finally began to calm down a little bit.

'Remarkable.' Ron breathed as he slipped his arms round Hermione's slim waist.

She stood doing the washing up, although it was possible to do things by magic – she did not feel comfortable with wet and soapy china plates dancing around the kitchen with a collection of small children toddleing around. 'What?' She asked.

'If that was me or Dad who had done that, we would have gotten a black eye.'

Hermione laughed at him. 'Oh, don't exaggerate. She's fine really. You just need to stop being so scared of her.'

Ron laughed too and nodded over to where Hermione's parents were sitting, each sporting a new Weasley jumper as was tradition, and with their eyes and their mouths as wide as galleons as they watched Harry charm small broom decorations to go whizzing around for the amusement of the children. 'They having fun?'

'I think so. Other than Diagon Alley and our wedding, this is the first time that they've been exposed to this much magic.'

Ron nodded. It was true. When the Granger's had been formally introduced to the Weasley's, his dad had been so excited he insisted on transforming The Burrow into a muggle home. Problems only arose when he got the washing machine and the television mixed up and was unaware that gnome-throwing was not a common muggle occupation.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion after Christmas. Perhaps it was the chilling wind that whipped around them whenever they stepped outside. Perhaps it was none of these things. All Ron Weasley knew, was that when he woke up in the mornings and rolled over to look at his wife, her cheeks were tearstained and there were remenants of mascara on her pillow. She cried too when she thought that he wasn't looking. Eventually, her work suggested that she take a paid break as she was too stressed to continue. It was when she started talking in her sleep, did he begin to understand what she was thinking. But what could he do? He'd been to St. Mungo's and got every potion under the sun to slip into her morning tea. He'd even done some research on that terrifying contraption of Hermione's – a laptop, into what muggles did when they were depressed. Their online solutions would have only offended Hermione's proud nature.

The truth of the matter was that Hermione felt empty. Desperately empty. She'd felt this way since the defeat of Voldemort. At first she put it down to the fact that now the cause she had been so actively involved in since she was eleven was now gone, Harry had been acting the same way – but now, she felt that there was something more involved? However, just as she started to believe that there was no hope for anything anymore, something truly magical happened.

Ron had barely walked through the door when he was met with a huge frizz of brown hair and ten stone thrown into his arms.

'Woah,' he laughed, as he was instantly smothered in kisses. 'Why don't I get this welcome home every day?'

'I'm pregnant.'

Ron's jaw dropped. Silently, he lowered himself to her flat stomach and gently pressed one of his hands against it. 'You serious?'

Hermione nodded, tears of delight rolling down her cheeks. 'Yes. I did the test, I did it several times, and every time it came out positive.'

'You mean, I'm going to be a dad?'

Hermione nodded again and laughed. 'That's right. You've officially grown up Ron Weasley. We're going to be parents.'

Of course Mrs. Weasley also cried when she found out the news. Mrs. Granger insisted that she had known longer than Hermione because of the glow in her cheeks, and both the grandfather's to be couldn't stop smiling.

'Congratulations.' Ginny had squealed when the Weasley's had gone to the Potter's for lunch, her hands moving over Hermione's slightly swollen belly. 'I cannot believe it. How far along are you?'

'Five months.' Hermione said promptly. 'I didn't realise it for ages, and then I wanted to wait for a bit longer before I told anyone – just in case.'

Ginny smiled fondly at her friend. 'Well, Harry'll be back soon. He was delighted, of course. We're sorry that we couldn't have you guys round sooner. Work has just been so hectic.' She rolled her eyes dramatically.

Ginny had recently been preparing for the next big game – Hermione couldn't remember which, they all just rolled over her head – and Harry had been working on a case that was TOP SECRET. Hermione had to surpress a chuckle when she remembered how Harry had told Ron with a completely deadpan face that if he told him what the case was, he would then have to kill him. She really needed to get Ron more involved in the watching of muggle films.

When they got in the house, Ron instantly ran to the sofa and plumped up the cushions and tried to guide Hermione to her seat.

'Ron, relax.' She half snapped, half laughed. 'I'm pregnant, not an invalid.'

'I'll remember that when you're in labour and telling me that this was all my fault.' Ron said promptly.

When Harry had got in a few hours later, he clapped Ron on the back into a joyous brotherly hug, but Hermione was surprised to see him do a slight double take when he saw Hermione with her hand rested slightly on her swollen stmach. Perhaps it was seeing one of his oldest friends pregnant that did it. Either way, Harry looked more concerned than congratulative, and when he took a seat beside her and spoke to her, he did so as if she were on her deathbed.

'How are you?'

'I'm fine.' She smiled. 'Fine. We're both fine.'

At the we're, Harry glanced down and for a second chewed his lip. However, before Hermione could even comment on this, he was grinning like his usual self as he looked up at Ron and said cheerfully. 'So, reckon it will be cursed with your ginger hair?' And after a scowl from his wife, he coughed awkwardly. 'Blessed. I mean, blessed.'

Hermione didn't have much time to bask in the glory of being the only pregnant woman for long. Weeks after they had dinner together, Ginny announced her pregnancy and soon had the attention of her parents and older brothers as the littlest and the only girl of the Weasley's.

Harry was beyond excitement, and it was truly beautiful to behold. He'd already played the father role to little Teddy as his godfather, and to now have a child of his own meant that he was never seen without a smile. His and Hermione's previous glumness seemed like a thing of the past. But Ron wished that he could say the same for the weather. While the months indicated Summer, the country had remained in the thick of Winter.


	8. Look where all the children play

It was all getting to be so perfect. Hermione no longer had the nightmares. She returned back to work. Ron was promoted and had never had so much responsibility in his life before, managing junior Aurors. With a wry smile, Hermione thought how she was glad that all that training in Wizard Chess had finally paid off. Today, her and Ginny had decided to get together to decorate the nursery to welcome the child that would be born in just under two months.

'Alright.' Ginny had huffed when she made her way up the stairs with several tins of paint that she had just bought, her belly just beginning to peek through her top. 'What colour? I have red, blue, yellow, green,' she made a face, 'lilac, pink, orange-'

'White.' Hermione finished promptly. 'I've already decided on the colour scheme. White.'

'Really?' Ginny wrinkled her nose. 'This baby's not going to be you, Hermione. It's going to be messy.'

'I just don't want to categorize my baby into a colour just yet.' Hermione said defensively. 'I want them to be able to choose for themselves when they're older, without having previously been influenced. Besides, my grandmother would kill me if I chose pink for a girl. She's always been a firm believer in the Anti-Pink for Girls. And red, blue, yellow and green – that's a lot of pressure to get them into Gryffindor isn't it?'

Ginny chuckled. 'Hermione, you think too much. Give your brain a rest and relax. Where's Ron anyway?'

'Work.' Hermione explained. 'He couldn't get the day off. Besides, he'd only get underfoot. Ron's hopeless at painting. I want to do it by myself by hand, and he wants to do it by magic. He doesn't get me trying to keep some of my muggle ways. I just want our baby to see both of its heritages equally.'

'I'm sure that your baby will really care that you decorated this nursery by hand.'

Hermione chose to miss the sarcasm.

'Well, I stupidly let Ron get involved last weekend with the nursery, and he's put the white carpet down already – I think that he was trying to get me to admit that to use magic would be easier. But we can work around it. I've put newspapers down around the edges of the carpet so that the paint from the walls shouldn't too badly damage them, and if they do,' Hermione shrugged, 'it's nothing that a little magic can't fix.'

The two young women got to work. Ginny took great delight in standing on the face of Blaise Zambini as he glared up at her from The Daily Prophet's Article about rounding up death eater's. Finally, the room was all done and they trooped downstairs again, exhausted and happily giggling about their husbands and other members of their family.

'I mean, when she asked me what a Cornish Pixie was, I could have just died.' Ginny laughed as they discussed Charlie Weasley's most recent girlfriend who, despite being stunningly beautiful and had looks to rival even Fleur, also had the brains of Goyle. She'd been brought up as a witch, and had somehow passed all of her exams at Hogwarts – but it was as if she had been drunk the entire time and couldn't remember any of her education.

Usually, Hermione would have said this, which is why Ginny was surprised when she suddenly stood up as if in a trance and excused herself.

Time passed, and still Ginny did not hear the soft padding of feet coming back down the stairs. Suddenly concerned, she rose from her seat and made her way upstairs.

'Hermione?' She called gently, 'you alright.'

Nothing.

Silence.

The nursery door was slightly ajar, feeling her heart begin to beat with dread, Ginny walked closer and closer towards the door.

'Hermione?' She called out again.

There was still no sound.

Ginny finally pushed open the door and very nearly screamed.

Blood.

Everywhere.

Somehow it had got up high on the walls, as well as leaving a trickling trail along the carpet that led to an unconscious Hermione. When Ginny saw the blood stains on Hermione's skirt, she knew in an instant that there was no hope. Still, she sent out for a MediWizard by using her patronus, and desperately clung onto her best friend, listening to her shallow breathing and knowing that when she woke up someone would have to relay these awful events to her. And how would she tell Ron? Ginny was in such a state as she held onto her, that she did not notice how the blood stains on the walls looked like two sets of handprints, one bigger than the other, pulling them away. And had she looked closely she would have seen written in blood, something that had haunted her since her childhood.

'_Enemies of the Heir. Beware.'_


	9. Shall live in my protection

He couldn't get her to talk. She just lay there on the bed, her eyes dull and blank. It was only when they were told that her milk had dried up did she allow a single tear to fall down her cheek.

Ron Weasley was stunned. He was from a huge family after all, the idea of a child disappearing from them was an unknown concept to him. But Ron knew that he couldn't greive for too long, his wife needed him. She needed him to be strong.

He left Hermione with Ginny by her bedside and returned to their home. Slowly, his foot dragging on each step he made his way up to the nursery. Thankfully, Ginny had had the sense to scourgify the place of blood before her brother turned up. The nursery was unnervingly pure and gleaming. Ron let out a deep sigh and slowly moved over to the cot in the middle of the room. He had insisted on constructing it himeself. He wanted to impress his new in-laws really, to show them how he didn't need a wand always to do the work for him. He remembered how carefully he had put it together, gently stroking the wood to make sure that it was smooth enough for his child, was safe enough to protect it. Now there was no child to go in the cot, but he just couldn't bring himself to take it down. It was too final.

In the cot, there was a small fluffy white lamb looking up at him. He'd bought the toy with Hermione when she announced that she was pregnant, they'd gone shopping in Diagon Alley and were arguing over a miniture Chudley Canon figure or an Owl for their baby, when they'd both clasped eyes on the lamb. It was the first thing that they'd bought for their child, and now, Ron picked it up.

It was soft. Much softer than he'd initially expected. But it wasn't right. A baby's toy should smell of sick, milk, wee, poo, sweat, tears and talculm powder. This was going to have that shop-brought smell for ever. Yet, that it didn't stop him from holding it.

Harry came in to find Ron with his back against the wall, his knees brought up to his chest, and his eyes bloodshot as he clutched the little toy lamb.

Without saying a word, Harry sank down next to his best friend, just to let him know that he was there when he wanted to talk.

'Dad's are supposed to protect their kids.' Ron said in a hoarse sort of voice, as if he wasn't quite used to using it. 'That's what they do. They sort them out after scraps. They hold their hand when they cross the road. They don't-' he tailed off.

Harry swallowed. 'Don't blame yourself, mate. It happens sometimes.'

'But why?'

Ron looked like that anxious eleven year old again. The one who was unsure about disturbing Harry in his train's compartment. He looked to him as if The Boy Who Lived held all the answers.

'I don't know.' Harry said finally. 'I'm sorry. I don't know.'

The pair fell silent again. Looking without seeing the room in which that small life had been so cruelly snatched away from them.

'Maybe, they were needed somewhere else.' Harry said finally. 'But we're still unaware why.'

'Harry,' Ron said slowly. 'Do you think that everything happens for a reason?'

'Yeah.' Harry frowned. 'Everything's planned, been set in order. I think we change some things that weren't supposed to be – but we can't change the things that were. But that makes no sense, because this was supposed to happen – it was a given. She was supposed to born.'

He'd said too much, in thought he had let his mind tail away and run away from him.

'Harry.' Ron's voice was suddenly sharp, cutting through his thought progression. 'What are you talking about? She was supposed to be born. What do you know that I don't?'


	10. Take her now

Harry bit his tongue and his best friend looked at him, a mixture of confusion and fear flickering over his face.

'Don't matter.' Harry mumbled, not meeting Ron's eye. 'Forget what I said.'

'No.' Ron's voice sounded a lot stronger. 'I know that there's something that you're hiding from me. Hermione too, but I'm not sure if she's fully aware as to what it is. Tell me.'

The command sounded like a threat.

Harry still shook his head.

'Oh, for fuck's sake.' Ron exploded, leaping up onto his feet. 'Stop being such the Golden Boy Martyr and tell me. I'm your best friend for crying out loud. I've had to watch my wife cry herself to sleep ever since that bloody war ended – had to tip-toe around you and her, look,' he dropped his angry tone and began to look more sympathetic. 'Listen, mate. I've just lost one of the most precious things in my life. Please, if you know anything, please, please tell me.'

Harry exhaled. 'When I figured it out, I promise I'll tell you everything.'

As Harry lay in bed that night, wide awake, he questioned whether or not he'd made the right decision. Ron had correctly identified that there was something that he wasn't telling him. He'd also quizzed Harry about what Hermione was not telling him. But how could Harry tell Ron that he was right? That Hermione was hiding something that she didn't even know about?

Hermione, despite her sadness, seemed to have no recollection of what had actually happened in that alternate universe – but Harry could remember it as clear as if it were yesterday.

Sometimes, he was ashamed to find that he felt physically sick when he looked at her, blaming himself for how she was feeling.

No, Harry had made the right decision. He still didn't fully understand everything, only that they were in the right time now – weren't they? And besides, how did you explain to your best mate that in another world he was supposed to be dead?

They were back at the hospital. Ron had a tight grip of Hermione's arm as he steered her through the wards.

'I'm fine.' She said faintly. 'I'm fine.'

When they burst through the doors, Harry was jumping around like a lunatic. 'What the fuck do I do? What the fuck do I do?'

His best friends smiled. 'How far along is she?'

'Um, screaming.' Harry said. 'I can't hear what the Midwife is telling me – but it sounds intelligent, so I trust her.'

Hermione would have scoffed.

'Is Mum in there now with her?' Ron asked.

Harry nodded. 'Yeah, and Fleur too. I know right.' He added as Hermione raised her eyebrows. 'I never would have believed it either. She'll probably ask for you too, if that's alright?'

Ron looked concerned behind his wife's back, but she smiled and nodded. 'Alright. Show me the way, Potter.'

Ron had opened his mouth to say something, but was distracted by the arrival of George, Angelina and their two children, 3 year old Fred and Roxanne sleeping in her buggy.

By the evening, Harry Potter became a father to James Sirius Potter. Ron and Hermione had stayed with Harry as he looked at each tiny little finger, thumb and toes in awe – as if he couldn't believe that this little baby was real, like him.

Later, as they lay in bed together, both pretending to be asleep, Hermione said softly.

'Ron, are we shit?'

It was quiet enough for him to ignore it if he wanted to, or if he didn't understand what she meant. But he did. His arm already round her, he pulled her closer to him and kissed her on the forehead.

'Yeah. Yeah we are a bit.'

'I'm so happy for them.' Hermione confessed. 'But,' she tailed off.

'I don't resent them.' Ron joined in. 'I just wish,'

The couple sighed and lay back again.

_**The Boy Who Lived Now A Man**_

_Yours truly, Rita Skeeter (21 and a few months), has just discovered the joyous news for The Daily Prophet that Harry Potter has just become a father. When I first met young Harry at The Triwizard Tournament and he cried to me over missing his parents, I saw him as you did, dear readers, a mere slip of a boy of whom we had a reason (nay a duty) to protect. Now, however, we are forced to admit that this boy has left childhood and has become a man. _

_The bouncing baby boy arrived this morning – a mark of a new day, and has been named James Sirius Potter. James of course for Harry's dear father who died after valiently fighting You-Know-Who off in order to give his wife more time to run away with Harry, and Sirius presumably for Harry's godfather – the man who served time in the Wizard Prison Azkaban for the murder of Peter Pettigrew who was mysteriously refound again in the clutches of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Sirius is also, if my sources are not mistaken, known under the stage name of Stubby Boardman the lead singer of the popular group The Hob Goblins. _

_So how will this little one turn out? We've spoken to readers from around the globe who are concerned with the childs upbringing. _

'_He'll be in Quidditch for sure.' Devon Greig booms powerfully behind a big ginger bushy beard. 'Like his father and his mother and his paternal grandparents before him.' _

'_He'll be trouble.' Van Herman comments thoughtfully. 'He'll be expelled for setting fire to Hogwarts before he even gets there.' _

_Only the notorious half-giant, Reubus Hagrid refused to answer my kind questions. 'E'll be a good kid an' that's tha'.' He said to me, shooing me off of his front step. 'Jus' like the people who'll be raising 'im. Naw, buzz off. Just le' the Potter's get on in peace, alright? They just wanna be like a normal family without a kid exposed to all a' tha'.' _

'Anything interesting?' Ginny quizzed Harry, breastfeeding James as she tried to look over Harry's shoulder at The Daily Prophet.

Harry chuckled. 'Only that Rita Skeeter is apparently only twenty-one.'

Another gloved hand clutched at the same article, its thumb pressing hard on the picture that showed Harry Potter grinning at the camera with a small bundle in his arms.

The dark street is deserted. It's well into the night and all inhabitants are sleeping peacefully, scarcely aware of the strange and terrible things that were about to happen. For the present, blissful dreams soothed the warm night air.

A scrawny rat peeked its head up out from behind a newspaper and snuffled its whiskers. Upon deeming it safe to emerge, the rat scurried out and began to forage for food, something that it would not have done n the day surrounded by people.

The rat found a nut, and the nut looked good.

As the rat nibbled away contentedly, utterly famished, it began to consider its life.

_Crack_.

The rat's ears twitched. Glancing up nervously, the rat considered its surroundings. Had it imagined the noise? Was it imagining the growing darkness and the silvery mist that chilled the air?

A black leather gloved hand came out from the darkness and snatched the rat up. Ignoring its squeaks of fear, the captor savagely bit off its head. Crunching the bones lustily, the figure wiped the hand across the mouth to rid themselves of the dribble of spit and blood.

Once finished, the figure stepped out of the alleyway and out of the darkness surrounded by the soft flickering glow of the streetlamps; now, the figure bid the silver mist out and sent it to spread its despair.

One house stood high on a hill, proud and slightly apart from the rest of the village, the enemy lay within and though the figure's hand itched around its wand, they kept a cool head, remembering their true task at hand. Firmly, they instead turned to the ruins of a house outside and pointed their wand.

'_Morsmordre._'

The Dark Mark shot up into the sky and Harry Potter woke with a start.


	11. None shall harm her

_**Oh dear, I have not been on in ages! Sorry. Well, this is a bit **_**rushed**_** and crap, but you'll get the drift. Hope you enjoy! xx**_

* * *

><p>Of course the Wizarding World was thrown into panic. Imitations of the Dark Mark had been a craze for rebellious teenager's which had quickly been crushed. The real Dark Mark on the other hand, had not been seen for years, and its appearance over the ruins of the Potter's house in Godric's Hollow was more than a joke.<p>

Ginny had whimpered and clutched James closer to her when she found out, and that was saying something as she hardly ever showed fear. Less than half an hour later however, she was back to her normal self as desperate witches and wizards arrived on her doorstep frantic and asking to see Harry to see what he could do to save them.

'It's a nightmare.' Ron said, shaking his head as he stepped out of the fireplace, having just flooed to the living room. Trailing ash onto the rug and wooden floorboards, Ron picked up his nephew and gently began bouncing him up and down. 'Everyone at work is running to Harry, asking his advice on what to do next. I keep on hoping that it's just some stupid kids – a prank, but Harry's fairly certain that it's the real deal. He paused long enough to throw a concerned look at his sister. 'How you doing? Alright?'

Ginny nodded. 'Until we know exactly what's what, we can't do anything, and we've just got to deal with that fact and like it. How's Hermione?'

Ron grinned, bemused. 'Great. She didn't even flinch when I told her, just raised an eyebrow and said that she was surprised that it hadn't come sooner.' He dropped his voice as if at confession. 'I know it's weird, but I'm kinda glad for it, for the first time in months she seemed back to her normal self.'

Ginny nodded awkwardly. It was times like this that almost made her feel ashamed to be a mother while her brother and her friend were so bereaved. Finally, she cleared her throat. 'How's Harry?'

Ron looked grim. 'You know how he is, soldiering on, all for caring for other people who are coming up and crying to him. But he's really shaken up, I mean, it's a pretty big statement to cast it over his parent's house on the anniversary of their death, isn't it?'

'I'm worried for him.' Ginny admitted, nibbling her lower lip. 'It's like the caster has made their aims quite clear. Harry's next.'

'Of course he is.' Ron said, not unkindly. 'He's been who he is for nearly his whole life, and you knew that when you married him.'

'What are you implying?' Ginny said fiercely.

Ron grinned. 'Just checking that you're ready for a bumpy ride.'

* * *

><p>'And check with Dawlish before that gets sent out, I don't want him whinging at me that he never gets informed about anything.' Hermione called over her shoulder to the tall pimply wizard in the purple robes who ran down the long corridor in the opposite direction. To the witch on her right, she handed over some of the enormous files with difficulty as she said, 'Take these down to Finnegan, he'll be expecting them no doubt, and tell him to set the Project A into motion. Once you're down there, go and see Fletchley and see how he's doing keeping The Prophet etc. under control. We don't want any rumours until they're needed. I'll be up seeing Shacklebolt, but I won't be there all day so don't necessarily expect to find me there.' The girl nodded and dashed off.<p>

To the bemused looking work experience student who was quite in awe of everything that was happening, Hermione turned to them kindly and said. 'I think that everyone would probably like a cup of tea. Chip chop.' Once gone, Hermione made her way into the Minister's office.

It was a large circular room, with a domed ceiling that imitated the current alignment of the stars and the planets. In the centre stood a large carved mahogany desk filled with parchment and quills and ink, in a neat but frenzied order. Shacklebolt sat at the desk with a large frown etched into his forehead. When he saw Hermione however, he gave a big wide charming smile.

'Miss Granger.'

She placed the stack of folders on his desk where they wobbled precariously.

'Mrs Weasley,' she said reprovingly.

Kingsley laughed. 'An old man forgets. And I am afraid that Molly will always be in my heart the true Mrs Weasley.'

Hermione smiled. 'Hermione then.'

'Hermione, and so, to business. Who do we have?'

'I've narrowed it down.' Hermione said grimly – indicating the large pile. 'Some in my office were all for quizzing the cousins, friends of the main people suspected, but that will be a waste of time for now, and will only create more panic and suspicion that necessarily required. The ones here are the Death Eaters who walked free and their wives and children who are of age or who are at least of OWL level. That spell is tricky unless you have been carefully taught it.'

Kingsley nodded, deep in thought. 'Go on.'

'A lot of people will be calling for Nott,' Hermione continued, 'and while I don't think that we can rule him out, I don't think that we can be too over-eager. As you know, he was moved to St Mungo's a few weeks ago, seeing as he is losing his mind in his old age. It is possible that the spell and the location occurred to him and he said it, not really understanding the significance – from his health reports, I can gather that he is not able to do anything with a fully conscious mind, unless prompted to do so by someone else of a sane mind. I would also argue that the wards at St Mungo's would have been too strong against him.'

'Have someone question him anyway, just in case he might remember something about someone else.'

'Spinnett is already on the job, sir.'

Kingsley beamed at her.

'The other likely contender is Avery's son. He's seventeen and has motive – Harry put his dad behind bars, but whether or not he was old enough to learn the spell from Avery is another matter. Zabbini's on it now, sir.' She added as Kingsley opened his mouth to speak.

Again, Kingsley beamed.

'There is a third is the most likely suspects.' Hermione said, this time more hesitantly by far than any of the others. Cautiously, she gingerly pushed a file forwards. Kingsley glanced at the photograph. Two faces, pale and pointed with a flash of white hair and cold grey eyes in a haughty and proud expression.

'Lucius and Draco Malfoy.' She admitted.

* * *

><p>Harry's protests could even be heard several feet away from his office. 'No.' He said loudly. 'You're not going.'<p>

'Harry, I'm perfectly calpable-'

'I don't care. It's not happening. I'll go.'

'Harry, you're swamped here as it is; you don't need much more of your time wasted.'

She had a point. Harry scowled at her. He sat at his desk surrounded by torn open envelopes, letters, pamphlets, files concerning the events of Death Eaters over the past fifty years or so.

'Then I'll send someone else.' He said crossly, fiercely signing his signature on various articles that needed his approval and pushing his cup of tea to cover the photo of Bellatrix Lestrange who was currently blowing kisses at him. 'Abbott's a waste of space here. He can go.'

Hermione folded her arms. 'Why are you so against me going?' She said fiercely. 'I'm qualified. I'm experienced.'

'It's not that.' Harry said quietly, glancing away from her face.

The answer stood unspoken in their air between them. Flushed, Hermione pulled at her robes so that Harry could see the long gleaming silver scar on her neck and then rolled up her sleeve where Mudblood flashed tauntingly at them.

'My battle scars.' She attempted to say airily, though her voice wobbled. 'We all have them, not just you. I've got loads elsewhere too. It doesn't stop me.'

'For God's sake, Hermione.' Harry exploded. 'I'm trying to do you a favour, I don't want you to return to Malfoy Manor – too many awful things have happened in there to you.'

'Only the one.' She scoffed.

But it didn't escape her notice that Harry didn't meet her eyes.

'Harry, what-'

'Hermione.' It was a plea. 'Don't. Don't go.'

For a moment she was ready to give in.

For a moment.

'See you in a bit, Harry.' And with that she gave him a wink and disapparated.

'Fuck.'

* * *

><p>When she got to the destination she was fuming. She was sick to the teeth of being treated like a frail little girl. She used to think that Ron was bad, but Harry since the end of the Battle of Hogwarts had grown increasingly over-protective.<p>

At one point she had even asked Ginny if Harry was like that around her. Instead she was only met with a confused, 'no?' Hermione sighed, she'd think on it later. Now, she had work to do.

Lucius Malfoy's bail terms had included the removal of various spells and defences that had previously kept the Manor. Without its large black gates, Hermione at least thought it looked friendlier, but she still shivered as she walked down the long gravelled path.

_Her feet were scraping along the floor, her body under hard grip of Scabior as she was dragged towards the entrance of the Manor. She shuddered as one of Fenir Greyback's hands found her and travelled down her lower stomach, the other claw on her breast, and then he put his mouth to her neck and let out a low moan._

Lucius Malfoy answered the door in a black velvet travelling cloak. He did not look at all surprised to see her.

'Good afternoon, Mr Malfoy.' Hermione said, feeling foolish. This was a man old enough to be her father, whom she had first encountered looking upon her disdainfully as she was buying schoolbooks for her second year. 'May I come in?'

He stood aside politely and beckoned her in. The Entrance Hall was enormous and seemed to be a palace of crystal with an ornate fireplace of diamond and a large grand white marble staircase. On first look it was beautiful, but seeing so many reflections in the jewels unnerved her. It was like looking into the shadows of the past.

Lucius beckoned her down some more corridors, and through doorways – so many she thought that she might get lost, and eventually they ended up in a small room, which was by far less intimidating, with oak wood walls and furnished with green velvet.

Lucius bid her to sit by the desk, while he himself stood.

'Mr Malfoy, would it be alright to question you?'

Lucius nodded, but other than that gave no reply.

Hermione smiled as warm as she could in the circumstances. 'Please, sit. We may be here for a while.'

Only now did Lucius look surprised. 'You're not taking me to Azkaban?'

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'Do you want to be taken to Azkaban?'

He looked relieved. 'Forgive me,' he half stammered, removing his travelling cloak and sinking into the chair opposite. I had thought that I was going to be taken away again.'

'If you're innocent, then you have nothing to fear.' Hermione said gently. 'Let's begin with the questioning, shall we?'

Lucius nodded. 'I- I can't thank you enough.'

There was a pause. Hermione knew as to what he was referring to. Although Harry had fought for the Malfoy family to be pardoned, there was still an uproar – particularly when, after being released from prison, Lucius had made a comment that showed that the majority of his ideals had not changed.

The Wizarding World had called for his blood. Hermione Granger had called for justice.

At nineteen years old, Hermione had stood before the court and had stunned everyone by defending him. 'Let him talk to someone.' She had appealed. 'He has been raised like this – it's not his fault. If his behaviour doesn't change then maybe I'll have to accept that he's a lost cause, but until then, I won't.' She'd spoken to them fiercely, so fiercely, this young girl to these older and much more experienced witches and wizards, and yet they indulged her.

At first, Lucius was sceptical. Talk to this wizard? About what? About his life apparently. But this wizard was clever. Soon, Lucius was telling him things that he'd never told anyone, how he was whipped at the age of five for befriending a muggle boy, how he would be given the choice to be tortured himself under the Cruciartus Curse or to perform it on some nameless muggle who would later have their minds obliverated. Lucius revealed that his parents taught him that muggles were monsters, and he had later come to see that when his mother was stabbed by one of them for her bag when he was eight. Soon, the wizard learned that Lucius Malfoy had led a very sad and sorry life. Shortly after that, he helped him to change his opinions and ideals, and turn him into an altogether happier person.

And for that, Lucius was eternally grateful to Hermione.

'Where were you on the 31st of October at thirteen minutes to midnight?'

Her voice brought him back to the present. He smiled. 'That's very precise.'

She had the grace to smile back.

'I was in bed.' Lucius said truthfully. 'My wife, Narcissa, can confirm this – although we were both asleep by that time.'

'What time did you go to bed?'

'Around ten, we're old folks now. We can't stay up much longer than that; we're not like you young kids anymore.'

The questioning went on for well over an hour, as well as an examination of his wand.

Next she interviewed Narcissa whose, like her husbands, blonde hair had turned to shocking white and who now had dark shadows under her fearful eyes.

Then came Draco, the pair awkwardly trying to make conversation – he was now married and his wife pregnant. By the end of the three interviews, Hermione was fully satisfied that none of the Malfoy's had conjured the Dark Mark. They were more terrified than most about the possibility of a new uprising.

'Um, Hermione.' Draco said as she was about to leave. 'I heard that there's a place going in the Department of International Wizard Collaborations.' He flushed. 'I know that I really don't deserve your kindness – or anyone else for that matter, but if you could hand in my CV for me, then-' he tailed off.

Some would have laughed at him, even taunted him. The great Draco Malfoy, now weak and fallen.

Hermione, on the other hand, admired him. What he'd just asked for took a lot of guts, bearing in mind who he used to be and who she now was. As far as she was concerned, Draco Malfoy's only problem was being a prat when he was younger – something that many people are.

'Sure.' She said, and his face cracked into an enormous grin.

'Thanks.' He gabbled. 'Really, thanks. Come and wait in here, I'll run up and go and get it. Thank you so much.'

She was led into another room and bid to wait there, while Draco bounded up some steps and out of sight.

Hermione looked around. In contrast to its grand entrance hall, this part of the building was made entirely from black marble, and despite its many candles, Hermione felt over-whelmed in darkness and trapped.

She glanced through one doorway and was very nearly violently sick all over the floor. It was instantly recognizable as the room where she'd been tortured.

It was many years ago now, and yet she could feel that same knot in her stomach as if it were happening right now.

Hermione turned her head away and her attention to another more ajar door.

Her heart stopped.

She could feel him. The man who had tortured her dreams at night. He was dragging her by the hair as she fought him off, screaming in her face. She moved in an ungainly manner, not because of their wrestling, but because underneath her blood sodden robes, her stomach was swollen.

Hermione fainted.

* * *

><p>When she came to, the first thing in her vision was the worried face of Draco Malfoy.<p>

'Shh, she's awake.' He had snapped to his panicked bickering parents. To her he was more sympathetic, but awkward at the same time. 'Um, you alright?'

'Yeah.' Hermione tried to give a shaky little laugh. Funny turn, that's all.'

Narcissa's face replaced Draco's. 'Has this ever happened before?'

'Yeah,' Hermione said absent-mindedly, 'yeah, when I was pr-' she tailed off.

The Malfoy's had clearly read the Daily Prophet nearly over a year ago. Their grim faces offered sympathy.

Draco helped Hermione up as she smiled at him. 'Anyway,' she said, trying to inject some brightness into her voice, 'I best be getting back to work. I'll hand your application in for you too, Draco, and put in a good word for you.'

Draco smiled gratefully as he showed her out of the door.

Meanwhile, his parents exchanged worried glances.

* * *

><p>Harry wasn't best pleased with her when Hermione returned, but upon seeing her so white-faced, he rushed to her and said urgently. 'What is it? What's wrong?'<p>

Hermione batted him away. 'I'm fine, Harry. I just fainted, that's all.'

'You what?'

'Fainted, Harry. It's when you go unconscious for a period of time.'

'Oh, haha.' Harry snapped sarcastically. He grabbed her arm and reeled her around to face him. 'Why did you faint, Hermione?'

His green eyes bore intently into hers. They invited a sense of understand, almost a longing for them to share a secret. But it was just her over-worked mind having stressful and horrific visions.

'It was too hot in the room'

It didn't go unnoticed by Harry that she didn't meet his eyes.

* * *

><p>Within weeks of the Dark Mark appearing, the new Death Eaters seemed back to their old tricks again. Murders were becoming more common than rain and the London air was thick with the despair of Dementors – though nobody ever came across one. Nor did anyone come across an actual Death Eater. At least, nobody who came out alive at the end of it.<p>

Harry wasn't surprised at the backlash at the new order of things. His only surprise was that it had taken them so long to organise. But what an organisation it had turned into. This was no schoolboy group, this was a real army – one that Voldemort himself would have been proud of.

What made matters worse, was that in the past few months the muggleborns who had fled from Voldemort had all pretty much returned. Now, there seemed to be a bigger panic than ever. Nobody knew whether to flee again or to stay and fight. And everyone was looking to Harry for an answer.

The Army was annoyingly clever. They kept their tracks well covered; there had been no arrests or suspects. It was by far a tidier job than anything that Harry had ever seen before.

Ron had been training up the more junior Aurors for some months now, and now was the perfect opportunity for them to show their skills. Certainly, Harry was very pleased with the job that Ron had done on them – particularly with those who had started off with the gracefulness of Neville Longbottom.

As promised, Hermione had handed in Draco's application and he had fought off the competition and managed to get the job. Although initially treated with suspicion – soon even the most anti-Death Eaters had to begrudgingly admit that Draco was doing an excellent job and that his inside knowledge of these kinds of operations was invaluable.

Number 12 Grimauld Palace had always remained open, dealing with smaller issues that were behind the scenes of the Ministry of Magic, but now the place was positively buzzing with members of the old Order and Dumbledore's Army.

'They're likely to hit here next.' George said, pointing with his wand at a large map laid out on the kitchen table. 'It's where a large group of muggleborns went into hiding during the last War. They hid with various pureblood witches and wizards. Blood traitors.' He added with a grim face. 'It also has a large history connecting to the middle Peverell brother. There are rumours that a gift from Death has been hidden there.'

Harry kept his features straight, determined not to betray anything.

'If we send in a group from the front marching into the area,' interjected Neville, 'then we can send two more groups around the back to encircle them. Hopefully that way we can trap some of them, even if it's just the one to see who they are.'

'We know that.' Ron said humourlessly. 'Death Eaters. What I want to know is what they want to achieve. Voldemort's gone. Really gone. Isn't he, Harry?'

The group turned to Harry, whose eyebrows were knotted in concentrations. He nodded firmly and traced his wand around the South. 'Here's where concerns me.' He said softly. 'If they get a defence around the border then they can cut off other countries coming in to help us.'

Parvati gave a hesitant laugh. 'They can't really do that, can they, Harry? Set up shields?'

Harry nodded. 'It's surprisingly easy if you know how.'

Parvati was just opening her mouth to ask how exactly he knew this, when Hermione piped up.

'They've done it before. Hundreds of years ago mind you. Muggles are alright, but anyone magical gets trapped. But Harry, what I'd be more concerned about is Hogwarts,' she tapped the Castle on the map, almost thoughtfully. 'I know that everyone sees it as a Safe Haven, but isn't that what's so enticing about it? If they wanted to prove themselves as all powerful, they'd at least aim for Hogsmeade.'

Ron gently laid a hand on her arm. 'She's right. I know we've been putting up more security, but more can never hurt, can it?'

Harry nodded, distracted. 'We need to work out where their base is. If we focus entirely on their actions, they will never stop. We need to stab the heart of it. I'll go and discover what I can.'

Ron stood up to join him. 'I will too. '

Hermione rose. 'And me.'

'No.' Both men suddenly shot at her.

Hermione scowled furiously. 'You're not swanning off on an adventure without me.'

Harry groaned, exasperated. 'This is hardly an adventure, Hermione. We're not kids any more. You need to stay here, safe.'

He'd said precisely the wrong this. Her very aura seemed to spark electricity in anger.

'Don't talk to me as if I'm not good enough to come with you, that I'm some little girl who needs protecting. I've helped you since you were eleven years old – and I have been a good help. Just because some things have been difficult lately,' she swallowed, 'doesn't mean I need to be shoved to one side and treated with care for the rest of my life.'

'Hermione,' Ron tried to soothe, but he was ignored.

'I have every right as you or Ron to help. I need to help. It's people like me they are hurting. Muggles and mudbloods.'

'Hermione, you're not-'

He cut short as she let her sleeve fall to show the thin red scars against her white skin.

'Mudblood.' She whispered. 'And who am I to deny it? Let me help. I need to help.'

'I really don't feel good about this.'

Harry and Ron watched as Hermione dashed about saying her last minute goodbyes to the immediate Weasley family. Although it had been agreed that their departure was to be kept secret, they needed the Weasley's to make sure that it remained so. Harry's biggest regret was that he was leaving James so soon, and a newly pregnant Ginny. Yet, he reasoned with himself that this was for the greater good of his children.

But he still felt a great sense of unease as he watched Hermione ready herself to join them. Some events were fixed in time. He wouldn't be able to bear it if he was leading her to one that should have occurred in her past.

Ron grimaced. 'You know that if we went off and left her, she would find us within seconds.'

'Unless she was too pissed off.'

'In which case we would be screwed. Let's be honest, we can't last one second without Hermione.'

Harry had to give him that. But it was one of the reasons why he wanted to keep her safe.

Ron seemed to have read his mind. 'I know that you won't put her into any danger, Harry. I trust you.'

'She won't ever be put into danger. Not while I'm living. Not while I'm around.'

They had been travelling on the road for about a week. To travel by magic would, in some ways, be easier, but it made them too open to detection from the Death Eaters– so they avoided that when they could. Sometimes Hermione woke up and thought that she was back searching for Horcruxes again. But then she saw that she was sleeping in Ron's arms and knew that it had not all been a dream.

They'd heard from the others that they were starting to combat the uprising. The only problem was that it was getting stronger. Wizards and witches had crawled out from beneath the woodwork or had shown their true colours again and were now working against them. They were told by the older members of the Order that it was like the old days, where no one knew who to trust anymore.

* * *

><p>'So, what are you thinking, Harry?'<p>

They were sat around the table munching on chicken legs and chips. Now that they weren't fugitives, they were more able to go out and get real food, rather than resorting to mushroom picking.

Harry swallowed and frowned slightly. 'Their old base would be a good place to start. Riddle Manor. It was the home of Voldemort's father and grandparents.'

'Bit weird, considering that he hated his muggle side?' Ron questioned.

Hermione shook her head. 'No,' she said logically, 'I think he would have seen it as a victory of wizard kind over muggles. If you think about it, his father abandoned him, to then sit in his place and pride about the family his father had hated would have been a triumph for him.'

Harry was slightly taken aback by her understanding, but pressed on. 'Even if we find that no one's there, we can still search for clues. They might have references to other houses that were used at that time.'

Ron nodded and picked up the bottle of wine to refill his goblet. When he turned to fill Hermione's, she put her hand over it and smiled.

'No thank you,' she smiled mischievously, 'I'm pregnant.'


	12. The night grows ever colder

**Sorry! I have been so busy, new job, qualifications, new course starting in January. I am really ill right now, so this writing won't be the best but I just want to get it DONE so that I can move onto my next project! I hate not finishing something and then starting on to something else, though I do it all the time. Anyway, I warble. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I already have it pretty much planned to the end – but please feel free to review with your feelings about the characters and settings. You will see why it's a sequel to TDHW soon...xx**

The changes in the men's facial expressions were astounding. Joy, sorrow, panic, anger, confusion and then a look of gentle pity.

It was Ron who spoke first. 'That's great, Hermione.' He gave her a warm lopsided smile. 'How far along are you?'

'Four months.' Her face was bright and she looked like that little girl who used to sit overjoyed in the library. 'I just had to be sure.'

The atmosphere was still tense, Hermione turned with a hesitant smile to Harry. 'Isn't it great?'

His eyebrows were slightly knitted together so that he wore a little frown. If Sirius had been there, he would have said that he looked exactly like James.

'Yeah.' He said softly. 'Yeah.' And he wandered out of the room.

Hermione's face fell and she turned her attention to fiddling with the cuff of her jumper. Ron grimaced. The timing wasn't ideal, and at the back of his mind he felt that this baby was a replacement for the one that they had lost. But how could he be cross? It wasn't right to resent this baby just because that wasn't how things had been planned.

Gently, he slipped his arm around her waist – she was a little plumper perhaps, but the bump was still yet to show, and she nestled into his shoulder.

'I'm going to be a mother.' He heard her say. 'It's happening this time, I know it is.'

'Hermione –'but Ron never managed to finish what he was going to say as Harry came bursting back through the tent in a panic.

'They're here. Death Eaters. They're here.'

* * *

><p>The three burst out of the tent in a panic, wands out and pointing at the darkness. For what seemed like hours, they stood with their backs close to one another so that every area was covered and jumping whenever they heard a crack on the nearby forest floor.<p>

The cold wind whipped around them and went like daggers down their lungs and burning their cheeks.

'Harry,' Ron spoke at last, 'Harry.'

'Quiet.' Harry interrupted him. 'They'll hear.'

'But, Harry-'

'Shut it!' he snarled.

'Harry,' Hermione spoke timidly, 'Harry, I don't think that anyone's here.'

Harry didn't say anything, instead his jaw set determinedly and he jabbed his wand in the direction of the forest, knuckles clenched white and hands shaking.

'Harry, please, come inside? There's no one here.'

'I saw them.'

She swallowed. 'Maybe they were just passersby?'

Harry shook his head aggressively. 'It wasn't like that. They were coming for us. I know it.'

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. Harry did have a tendency to be paranoid.

'Then we'll keep watch.' Ron said at last. 'And wait.'

* * *

><p>When Hermione took over the watch from her husband four hours later, they exchanged a wry smile.<p>

'Does he ever get it right?'

Hermione smiled and ruffled his hair. 'Get in there. You know what he's like, best keep him happy. If nothing has happened by morning then we don't have to do this the following night.'

Ron headed back into the tent and Hermione assumed his place, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them.

It was still bitterly cold, growing colder and colder like death, and the howling wind began to sing to her. Songs that she knew only from nightmares and touches she knew from horrors. She felt sick.

'_Hermione,_' the air breathed, '_Hermione_.'

She swallowed and chose to ignore it.

'_Where are you, my Miss Mudblood? Where are you?_'

Hermione suppressed a sob and pulled herself closer together.

She felt sick. She was sick. Why did she think these things? What the hell was wrong with her? Things were bad enough. Time and time again she convinced herself that it wasn't real, but years had passed and they never faded, the details never changed.

When Lord Voldemort stood in the forest, he looked exactly the same.

Now he held out one of his long white arms and beckoned her.

Hermione's breath hitched in panic and looked back down on her knees praying that it would all go away soon. But she could smell him on her skin, could feel his body pressing against hers, she could taste his skin and she could hear him whisper her name as if he were right behind her.

Finally, it all got too much and she ran.

Faster and faster away from him and through the thickening of trees the other side. At the back of her mind she knew that she was running into the darkness, but it was like he was messing with her mind and she just couldn't think straight. Eventually she came to a jolted stop as if someone had grabbed her and that this was as far as she was supposed to go.

At once Hermione cursed herself for so easily running into a trap. He'd been sent to scare her into running away from security, but she didn't have too long to ponder this as a green jet of light came flying her way. Hermione dived behind a large bolder and grabbed her wand out of her pocket, shooting golden stars over her shoulder. Whether they hit the intended target she didn't find out, for a blue light had suddenly hit her squarely in the chest. It wasn't a spell that she had encountered before; it made her feel woozy, dizzy and she felt her eyes droop. But Hermione had faced worse and managed to stagger up and cast her wand around her. She almost wished that she hadn't.

About twenty or so figures in black cloaks and masks surrounded her.

Death Eaters.

Quickly she shot a spell at one of them which was quickly reflected. The rest of them were still. She swallowed and threw another spell which was also reflected. By concentrating fully on her, they were able to focus on her every move and anticipate her every turn. Yet, at the present they did not seem so focused on the attack. Hermione took a deep breath a sent a variety of flashing spells at them, all non-verbal as if that might help, but they were all easily pushed away. She tried again, and again, and again.

Rapidly, and without warning, the Death Eaters all joined in casting their spells at the struggling witch. Hermione kept a tight grip on her wand and did whatever she could to try and keep up a good combat. She was a good witch. A clever witch. Her physical fitness was never in any question but Hermione was struggling.

Nonetheless, she pushed herself forwards and thought of the baby inside of her.

'Reducto!' she shrieked, sending the curse to the nearest Death Eater.

The hood was blasted back and Hermione screamed in horror.

Underneath it was the rotting face of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Her skin was no longer sallow but tinged blue, her features hollowed into her skull and her blank eyes rolling around in their sockets, a trickle of blood trickled out of her lips and down her chin.

There was no recognition that her hood had been pulled back, and no recognition that this was the witch that she had tortured some years previously.

This wasn't right; Hermione pulled back the hood of the next Death Eater.

Fenir Greyback, blood matted into his fur and one eye hanging out of its socket.

With increasing horror, Hermione blasted back a few of the other hoods and found the Death Eaters to all be the same. Bits of flesh had fallen off of them so that she could see the yellowing crumbling skull underneath. Some had their throats slit; others had marks of curses on their faces. These were all Death Eaters who had died all those years ago in The Battle of Hogwarts. She had helped to identify some of these bodies herself. How could they be alive? They weren't alive? They were standing and moving and cursing, but other than that they had lost all of their familiar personal traits. They had lost their souls.

It dawned on her.

Inferi.

Immediately Hermione panicked. She shot out curse after curse, but none seemed to have any effect and now they were fighting back.

She wasn't unused to battles. But she'd never faced twenty to one. Now the curses were coming quicker and quicker and Hermione felt herself being to the ground. Vision deteriorating, heartbeat slowing down, Hermione lay there struggling to breathe and unable to move. A dark cloaked figure came towards her.

Hermione was never one for giving up. With the last bit of strength in her body, she pointed her wand out – but it was quickly snatched from her fingers by one of the figures.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, Ron threw himself in front of her and set a jet of fire at them all. They dissolved into dust almost instantly, but more continued to grow out of the ground.

'We need to get outta here, Harry!' Ron bellowed behind his shoulder.

A pair of comforting arms slipped around her body and Hermione felt herself be pulled away, spinning and spinning into the darkness.

* * *

><p>'What were you thinking?'<p>

They'd set up camp again and were sitting around the fire outside. Ron was out collecting more wood; Hermione was huddled up in the duvet and Harry sat opposite her, his green eyes boring into her brown ones with a look of concern.

'I got scared.' Hermione whispered, her voice hoarse. 'Please don't ask me why. I don't know.'

They were silent for some more. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the occasional muffled curses of Ron as he tripped over tree roots.

'Do you ever think about it?' Hermione hesitated. 'About before?'

Harry's eyes flashed up at her. 'Of course I do. All the time.' He paused. 'Do you?'

Hermione frowned slightly, her eyes welling up with tears and her breathing getting faster somewhat. 'I can't explain it. I just think of before and.' She sighed. 'Ignore me, I'm sorry, it's nothing.'

Harry swallowed as he looked at his best friend. 'Do you think that maybe you should go home?'

Hermione placed her head in her hands. 'I'm fine. It was a minor blip. I just-.' She swallowed. 'I'm struggling, Harry. I'm struggling and I have no idea why.'


	13. I will keep you warm

**Please review, it makes me happy.**

They spent the next few months travelling and looking for clues. Even though they were no longer on the run, they didn't exactly want to be shouting around their presence either and kept their heads down.

Harry sometimes felt awkward. Ron and Hermione were a married couple now, and while they would snuggle on the sofa together – Harry found himself thinking of Ginny at home. How, she'd slip her small hand into his, the way she laughed at his jokes, the swish of her fiery red hair when they argued, the enticing brightness of her eyes when they loved, and the way she would hold onto him as she slept as if she were so happy that he were there that she'd never let go.

So, whenever he could, Harry spoke to Ginny and to James and would visit at every available opportunity. Luckily, he was there to see all of James' milestones as if he had been saving them for his father, nonetheless, Harry still felt guilty for not being there enough. Yet, he tried to reason with himself that he was doing it for James' sake. For a better world.

On one particular visit, Hermione, having gasped at Ginny, 'Look how big you're getting!' and Ginny saying likewise and the two dashing inside to have a pregnancy catch-up, Harry and Ron lingered out in the garden with James, who was laughing as he tried to grasp the bubbles that were coming out of Harry's wand for him.

'It's the best feeling in the world this.' Harry whispered. 'Being a dad.'

Ron smiled back. 'You're doing a good job.'

'Really?' His friends face brightened. 'I don't even know what I'm doing nearly all of the time. I just make it up as I go along.'

'Isn't that the story of your life, mate?' Ron laughed.

Harry grinned. Then, checking that there was no one behind him, his voice dropped down to a whisper. 'I've been thinking about Hermione.'

Ron didn't say anything.

'Anyway,' Harry continued, 'I honestly think that we should leave her here, it's for the best.'

'She'll be mad.' Ron pointed out.

'Yes, I daresay she will, but as long as she's safe.'

Ron leaned forwards, his hands clasped together and a frank expression in his eyes. 'Look,' he began, 'I'm not stupid. I know that there's something that you're not telling me about Hermione. I'm not asking you to tell me now, that's up to you, but the sooner the better.'

Harry swallowed. It would have been easier if Ron had looked fierce instead of calm and collected. 'Do you believe in prophecies?'

Ron snorted. 'Depends whose made them.'

Harry licked his lips nervously. 'Say they're made in the stars? And sometimes they come here, and sometimes they don't. Say you can only technically have one or the other, but sometimes the lines get blurred, but at the same time certain things stay the same – events, memories, people and time.'

Ron frowned. 'Well, is there a way of fixing that?'

Harry shook his head. 'No.'

Ron hesitated. 'Well, I think that-'

'Hello boys.' Hermione interrupted brightly, coming out of nowhere and picking up James for a tickle. 'What are you talking about?'

'Quidditch.' They both said automatically.

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Come on, James,' her voice brighter as she spoke to the baby who was playing with her hair, 'dinnertime. We'll see Daddy and Uncle Ron in a minute.'

* * *

><p>Inside the kitchen, Hermione and Ginny chopped vegetables while James fed himself, or at least painted himself with, his dinner.<p>

'How's it been?' Ginny asked.

Hermione shrugged. 'Show your head and about two hundred people bombard you with questions. Other than that, it's like running around in circles.'

'It's scary here.' Ginny admitted. 'I wake up most nights just to check that James is still here and well. And people are murdered or attacked left right and centre.' She shuddered. 'It doesn't bear thinking about.'

'I know.' Hermione said quietly. 'It's like the old days again, and the ones we're too young to remember like Sirius always talked about.'

Ginny nodded. 'Mum and Dad are saying how they've already lived through two – they don't want to see another one.'

She picked up the squawking James who, in turn, wriggled for Hermione who laughed in delight and began playing with him.

It was incredible how much he looked like his father, only with Ginny's brown eyes rather than green, for one so young it was like looking into the face of an old friend.

'How many people do you reckon are going to say to him, you look so much like your father, except for your eyes, you have your mother's eyes?' Hermione teased.

'So far it's about three hundred.' Ginny volunteered.

Hermione laughed and cuddled and kissed James to her. James nestled up into her shoulder.

'He loves you.' Ginny pointed out obviously, and then more warily. 'You're going to be a great mum, Hermione.'

Two pink spots of pleasure appeared on either side of Hermione's cheeks. 'Ooh, do you really think so?'

Ginny laughed. 'I know so.' And then more seriously. 'How've you been?'

'What, aside from the still terrible morning sickness?' Hermione tried to make a joke.

Ginny gave her a look that so reminded her of Mrs. Weasley that it was actually quite frightening.

'Not so good.' She whispered like a small child. 'I haven't been sleeping well, I have to force myself to eat and I just cry all the time.' Her face crumpled. 'Ron and Harry must be really fed up with me.'

Ginny enveloped her in a hug. ''Course not.' She said fiercely. 'Why would they be? You've had a lot to cope with this past year.'

Hermione shook her head. 'I just feel like I should be over it. People keep on making remarks about this being my first – and I just remember the other one and I don't want to forget them, but at the same time-' she frowned slightly and stoked James' plump baby cheek. 'My grief should be coming to an end, people say, and I know that they are sort of right. But, it's not that. It's-' she tailed off.

'It's.' Ginny prompted.

Hermione hesitated.

'Hey ladies, what are you cheating about?' Ron asked her as he and Harry made their way into the kitchen.

'Shoes.' Both said automatically.

Both of them pulled a face.

'Come on, James.' Harry said decisively, pulling him out of his godmother's arms. 'Let's go and play some Quidditch before they turn you into a girl.'

Ginny smiled fondly at their retreating backs and then looked kindly at Hermione, waiting for her to continue.

'It's nothing.' She said. 'It doesn't matter.'

* * *

><p>As anticipated, Hermione wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect of being left behind, and after much screaming, tears, fighting and, 'careful, you'll harm the baby,' Ron made the decision that she'd be coming along too, on the consideration that she was to stay out of anything dangerous for the sake of the baby.<p>

But first, Ginny had to go into labour.

Albus Severus (Ron had sniggered) Potter, was a nice easy birth and a nice easy baby. And while everyone had commented on how alike Harry and James had looked – the place was now stolen by his younger brother – all that was missing was the scar.

'So this is what I looked like when I had parents.' Harry had wondered to himself.

Hermione and Ron were godparents again, with Hagrid and McGonagall being replaced by Neville and Luna, who had bought a Nargles catcher for the baby. Although, she warned that as it was invisible and weightless, it was very likely to get lost and therefore found an appropriate place to hang it for them.

Harry hated to leave his wife and two sons, particularly as he sensed that Ginny would be exhausted and would need all the help she could get, but the Ministry and been able to locate some more leads for them and they had been ordered away again. He had considered telling them where to shove it, until Mrs. Weasley, Fleur and Angelina had ordered him out of the house to do his job on the basis that they would be there to look after his family.

The Ministry needed to put a name and a face to the leader so that they would have a much better understanding of who they were dealing with and could therefore respond appropriately.

But this was harder than it looked.

* * *

><p><em>She heard all of them running. Screaming. Fighting. Smelt burning flesh. Tasted the salt of tears, sweat and blood. Felt the shudders of the cold and the thuds of the battle below. She wanted to scream help me, wanted to show where she was, but if she left this room then her safety would not be guaranteed. Better to wait and to pray that the right side would win.<em>

* * *

><p><em>The dead face of Draco Malfoy.<em>

* * *

><p>She awoke with a start.<p>

'You alright, Hermione?' Both men looked at her, puzzled.

She'd fallen asleep at the breakfast table – mid sentence apparently, she'd later been told.

'Why did you let the Malfoy's walk free, Harry?' It was phrased calmly enough, but he still looked worried – both of them did.

'You championed them too, Hermione.' Harry laughed hesitantly.

* * *

><p><em>She was drowning. And happily so. When suddenly she was pulled up by a pair of strong arms and hauled out of the water. Lucius Malfoy had comforted her as if she were a child as she sobbed into his arms.<em>

* * *

><p>'That's not what I asked.'<p>

Harry swallowed. 'Narcissa saved my life. You know she did.'

'But what about Lucius and Draco?' She demanded. 'Why them?'

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again.

'You reckon they have something to do with it?' Ron asked urgently.

'No.' Hermione batted him away. 'Just curious.'

* * *

><p>'I know we decided against it,' Harry began as he walked into the kitchen to the married couple sipping tea who looked at each other in surprise, 'but I think that we should put more effort into locating Riddle Manor.'<p>

Ron and Hermione grimaced at one another. Harry had a point. Despite being on strict instructions under the Ministry to only follow their leads – Death Eater's houses, Albania etc. all had been proved fruitless.

'My only concern is what we're up against.' Ron said honestly. 'Inferi for certain, Dementors most likely and possibly even other magical creatures,' he sniffed, 'our spying is all well and good – but it's gotten past that, we have the Ministry at our disposal this time – let's actually use them.'

Harry grinned at his friend's frankness. 'Yeah, exactly mate. We can't do everything.'

Hermione, however, kept quiet, her face beautiful in concentration, her eyebrows knitted together.

'Hermione?'

She did not look convinced as she looked up. 'How can we attack the enemy if we do not know them?' She said bluntly.

Harry and Ron smiled foolishly.

'Ah.' Ron said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Hermione's lips pursed. 'Ah indeed.' She said softly. 'But Harry, I still think that you are right. We'll take a look there first and then take it from there.'

Ron grinned and rubbed his hands together. 'So that's it.' He said bracingly. 'Reckon Kingsley will be happy?'

'Oh, pay no mind to him,' Hermione said absentmindedly as she turned her attention to the William, Jack magazine that sold tailored clothes for wizards and witches, 'he'll get over it.'

Harry and Ron stared at her open-mouthed and dumbfounded.

'But Hermione,' Ron said, 'we'd get into trouble.'

'Loads.' Harry piped up.

Hermione shrugged.

The two men looked at each other bemused.

'Kingsley gave us express orders not to do this. How much of a telling off would we get?' Ron said temptingly.

Hermione gave him a scathing look. 'This is different to when we were eleven; this isn't some foolish game – it's life.'

'Ah, but what is the difference?' Harry interjected teasingly.

Hermione chose to ignore him. 'We're trying to help people,' she said earnestly, 'sure, he might be a little bit pissed off for the first few days, but he really would get over it and even laugh about it.'

Harry laughed. 'It's not us you have to convince, Hermione. We're just making sure that you had convinced yourself.'

'Oh believe me,' Hermione muttered grimly, 'I have.'

* * *

><p>And Harry had thought that finding Horcruxes was hard. Riddle Manor – despite being built as a muggle home, had been made unplotable by Lord Voldemort and his followers, even extending to the village nearby. Harry in particular found this annoying as he had been there in his dreams, been to the graveyard in his reality at the age of fourteen – but now could not find it anywhere.<p>

In the end it was sensible Hermione who reminded them that the Gaunt house was on Ministry records after an attack on the muggles who lived there and therefore Riddle Manor would be found amongst them as the scene of the crime.

'That's good, but how are going to get them?' Ron pondered one evening.

Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation. 'Do you two not work at the Auror Department?'

'Oh, yeah.'

The two men had to admit to themselves that without Hermione they would have been hitting a brick wall for quite some time without her intervention. Soon enough, the records had been accessed and they were on their way. The only problem was Hermione being pregnant meant that they could not apparate to their destination and instead had to travel. Some months ago, Harry would have moaned, but seeing as she was the one who led them there, he was much more obliging to wait a couple of days.

When Harry had seen the graveyard he had very nearly been sick and had been supported up by Ron. He felt foolish. He'd gotten out of there alive, but he still felt that same terror that he'd felt all those years ago, and remembered Cedric Diggory – a death he had always personally blamed himself for.

The dark Manor loomed over its surroundings. Hermione wondered if it had once been quite beautiful, but now it was overgrown with weeds and rose plants threatened to crush the stony building in its grasp. Harry could understand why the villagers that they had encountered thought that it was haunted. The whole place did. Hermione shivered as she glanced at the shack where the Gaunts once lived, thinking of poor Merope and the babe that she had carried all those years ago.

'We'll see if magic traces are still here.' Ron had said to them before they had left. 'If there is, then we'll continue looking – if not then we're back to square one.' He tried to smile.

Harry and Hermione had nodded grimly.

Now, the three of them were slowly creeping up the path – Harry under his invisibility cloak and Ron and Hermione under dillusionment charms. The whole place did seem to have an aura of magic about it, but how old the magic was they weren't certain just yet. They couldn't tell if the barriers that they kept on facing were new or from all those years ago.

Finally, they got to the stony building that had turned black with age and with the stormy weather. Harry had wondered if he'd feel his scar rip open with pain as it had done, but it did not. They peeked in through the windows like children and came across only cobwebs. When they were just about to give up, Hermione espied the smallest crack of light that came through the majestic doorway, enticing them in.

'We should call for the Ministry.' Ron breathed.

'Let's just wait a while longer.' Hermione returned as she walked without fear towards the light. 'Let's just see what we can find in here first.'

The two men shrugged at one another and continued to creep after their friend.

When Harry espied Hermione's facial expression he became concerned.

Her face, usually focused and determined, was now dreamier than Luna Lovegood's and her eyes blazed with an enticing enchantment. He put a hand on her arm as if to steady her, but she ignored it and carried on walking.

'Something's not right.' Harry muttered to Ron.

His friends jaw set as he nodded determinedly and tried to take ahold of his wife. Again, she snaked out of his arms and carried on walking until all three of them were in the building.

This room was just as majestic as it had been when it had been made. Made entirely from stone, tapestries and portraits hung on the walls, a huge diamond chandelier was graceful on the ceiling. Oak wooden furniture swathed with grey velvet occupied the room save for a large black marble fireplace that had omitted the fiery glow of light that had brought them in here.

And in front of the light stood a tall muscular black cloak figure, and when it turned to face them – they found themselves staring at someone they had thought never to see again.


	14. Take my child

**Hello, I thought that I'd start off with a little message, please read. Some people have questioned as to why Hermione likes Lucius and Draco. They were once Death Eater's – therefore they must be evil, right? Well, where I come from there is no such thing as evil. There is just a difference in opinion. Sometimes we do bad things because we are frightened, and it's ok to be frightened. Killing can never be condoned, but we all have to learn to understand the reasoning behind it so that we can prevent things like that from happening again. Do you understand? Draco didn't want to kill Dumbledore and he was frightened. Harry saw that and would have told Hermione and Ron too. Lucius was frightened in the final book. He'd been kicked out of his comfortable power and now he was starting to see the negative in the Dark Lord's ways. But the only trouble was that he was also frightened of the opposing sides. In World War II, some German children were told their bedtime stories where their villain was a Jew who wanted to kill and eat them. They grew frightened and even now some of them still are. What Hermione did was see if she could change the opinion through comfort. I don't understand how you could hate someone for that. Xx**

**Ok, so Dumbledore message over, I hope you enjoy your story.**

It was Crabbe. But they could only tell that it was him by the growing stupid smirk that spread across his face that they knew so well from their school years. The rest of him was covered in scarlet burns edged with black charcoaled bits of his skin curling over into dust. His grey eyes had sunken, his flesh was deformed like it had melted and it drooped over his twisted skull. He didn't look human anymore. And as he smiled, the corners of his lips bled with the strain.

Ron gripped his wife's hand in his. She squeezed back just as tightly.

The three raised their wands at him and were instantly engulfed in darkness.

When they all came to, they found themselves tied by rusting metal chains to the wall. Crabbe stood there still triumphant, with the Inferi of the Lestrange brothers on either side of him.

Rabastan's head wobbled precariously as if it had been sliced off. Pus and blood leaking from his neck into his fine robes.

Hermione wriggled uncomfortably. Eight months pregnant and forced into an awkward position in these chains was not ideal. She was in pain. Beside her, Harry was also wrestling with the chains.

'Hello, Potter.' Crabbe choked, black smoke coming from his mouth. 'Bet you're surprised to see me?'

'Crabbe.' Harry said coolly. 'Just a bit.'

Crabbe laughed which soon turned into a hideous racking cough as he doubled over struggling to breathe.

'You'll have to forgive me.' He croaked. 'The smoke just doesn't seem to want to leave my lungs.'

He paused and a black gloved hand massaged at his chest. Hermione flinched slightly as not all the fingers in the glove appeared to be whole. Finally, Crabbe breathed a sigh of relief and stood himself in front of them, almost glowing with pride.

'Years ago I was merely a sidekick.' Crabbe looked meaningfully at Ron whose jaw clenched. 'I did what I was told by that jumped up prat Draco Malfoy.' He hissed. 'I never questioned it. Never wondered what would happen if I said no. Never considered that I could do a better job. In our fifth year, Draco was crowing that he'd become a Death Eater soon. Less than a year later, he was one and he hated himself for it. I hated him for wanting to reject this honour. An honour that I hadn't been bestowed with. Draco had been told to kill that old fool Dumbledore. He didn't have the nerve. I heard him crying about it night after night. I would have gladly done it if it were me. Then in our seventh year, he came.' His voice lit up in wonderment. 'The Dark Lord had heard that I excelled at something. The first thing that I had ever done well in. The Dark Arts. He was sick of his little protégé. He wanted someone new. That someone was me. He taught me so much about the Dark Arts and he told me all about what you three were doing – why you had not returned to Hogwarts that year. He told me that when in Albania he had looked at the stars and learnt their secrets of the future. He said that he was destined to follow two paths – but only paid heed to the more favourable one for him. It was the secret to his immortality that went beyond Horcruxes that were easy to break. He told me what would happen. In some ways I grew jealous that it would not be me who would help him the most – instead, like Draco, it would be someone most unwilling. When I saw them I tried to kill them, my envy ruling my emotions but thankfully I failed. It was in the Room of Requirement when there were six of us, and only two were needed. I got over my jealousy and cast a Fiendfyre to get rid of the weak four. How happy my Dark Lord would be. But it went wrong. Five of you got away and left me behind. I fell into the pit of fire and burned. It was agony. I screamed and begged for release but it just didn't stop. I kept on burning and still I did not die. I experienced weakness and pleaded to die. Yet, after what seemed like hours and hours I learnt to walk through the pain and managed to disapparate. When my Dark Lord had told me how to live forever, I decided to try and please him by making my own Horcrux. I was foolish. Only my Dark Lord can live forever. He ordered me to destroy it. I cast every kind of magic I could, but it would not break. Finally, I bathed it in the blood of Unicorns. The pain was excruciating and I took it out. It was all mangled and I was satisfied that it had been destroyed. But as you can see, it had not been fully destroyed. It was only half killed and in Limbo. I am alive today because of it.'

Crabbe tailed off and Ron and Harry exchanged glances. Hermione on the other hand was quiet and curled over her belly, thinking of a plan.

'You are quite like Voldemort.' Harry said, breaking the silence. 'You both talk a lot.'

Crabbe grinned at that. 'I can only thank you.'

'Voldemort's dead.' Ron said, not unkindly. 'He's gone, Crabbe. You've got a lot to be angry about, but we could help you. We've helped others. You can to St. Mungo's and get those burns sorted out for a start. You don't have to live in pain.'

Harry was surprised at his friend's kindness; usually he was quite rash and saw things in black and white. Hermione seemed to be rubbing off on him.

Crabbe's eyes narrowed. 'He's only dead in this life.' He spat. 'Things could always go a different way. In the way that he wanted them to be. I've spent these years learning about it. In the other life I should be alive – I should have escaped quicker and I would have seen the Dark Lord win.'

Harry's jaw tightened. 'You would also have seen that I stopped him again.'

Crabbe snarled. 'That can be changed.'

'Harry,' Ron murmured looking confused, 'what?'

Crabbe's small black eyes widened in surprise and then he laughed wickedly. 'What? You don't know, Weasley? You don't know? Potter hasn't told you?' His eyes flashed over to Hermione. 'And what about you, Granger? Has he told you?'

Hermione kept her eyes downcast.

'Ahh.' He took some steps towards and knelt down so that their faces were inches away from one another. Hermione could smell the burnt rotting flesh and tried to turn her head away. 'You remember. You lived it so you remember it. Everything that happened you can see when you close your eyes, but you just convince yourself that it was a dream. That you'll wake up soon. You've convinced yourself that you're sick for thinking those things. You can't possibly allow yourself to believe that they actually happened.'

Hermione's brown eyes flicked up at him fiercely. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Crabbe sniggered. 'Stubborn bitch.'

Hermione flushed but did not say anything more.

Ron's jaw clenched as he muttered to Harry. 'Do any of you fucking mind telling me what is going on?'

Crabbe sneered. 'You don't know, Weasley? You don't know?'

Ron scoffed. 'Get over yourself, Crabbe. Private conversation.'

Crabbe drew himself up to his full height and walked towards Harry. 'Well, Potter.' He said softly. 'Are you going to tell him?'

Harry glared at him.

His enemy snickered. 'Fine then.' Crabbe said. 'I will, Weasley. I'll tell you what's really been going on. The Dark Lord learnt in Albania that there are two paths to follow-'

'You've said this part.' Ron interrupted irritably.

Crabbe looked pleased. 'Oh so you do want to hear, Weasley? I'm coming to that. There are at least two paths in every lifetime caused by a single action. Usually they never entwine, but when someone has messed around with time they can. The person who brought about the changes will remember everything, and the people who were alive in the alternate will remember it in their dreams.'

'Well how come I don't remember everything?' Ron snarled.

Crabbe smirked. 'Because you're dead, Weasley.' He said softly. 'In the alternate, you're dead.'

Hermione looked at Ron. His face was pale; he looked like he was going to be sick. She could practically hear the wild thumping of his heart, trying to prove that he was alive but suddenly filled with self doubt.

'You're dead.' Crabbe repeated, savouring the words. 'And so is Potter here. Potter was a coward, but you were brave. Foolish but brave. In your final moments you showed Gryffindor strength, but it wasn't enough. Gryffindor bravery is no match against Slytherin power. You died so that she,' he jabbed a finger at Hermione, 'would have time to run. She wouldn't leave you but you forced her to. She had about an hour to hide, but she was still taken.'

Hermione curled up even more. She did not want to hear this. Already she could feel the scratches of the branches in the forbidden forest, the ache in her legs as she ran, the terror in her heart as she could hear them calling for her. It was just a dream. It had to be a dream.

'The Dark Lord needed the mudblood here for a new purpose. I couldn't work out why. A mudblood called to do the highest honour, I would have thrown my sisters at his feet if only he had asked, but it had to be her he said. I thought that maybe it was pure lust. He'd spoken of her before, admiringly so, he went into Potter's head just so he could see her and rejoiced whenever she wore the locket so he could whisper to her. When she was taken, the Dark Lord left her for a few months, he had other work to do – securing the rest of his Horcruxes and quashing any further rebellions. Thanks to you, Weasley, many had managed to escape abroad before he could do anything about it. No matter. He is a powerful wizard.'

'He's dead.' snarled Harry. 'He's dead, Crabbe. I killed him. I always kill him. In this life he is dead and buried, hidden in an unmarked grave so that no one can find him. No one will ever be able to find him and honour his name.'

Crabbe looked the least bit perturbed by Harry's outburst. He was focused instead on the drool on blood coming from his eye sockets, when it reached his mouth he licked it away. 'The Dark Lord had her first.' He continued when he was done. 'And then it was our turn. How does that feel, Weasley? I've fucked her. I know what she feels like. I held her by the throat and fucked her until she bled. You're just one of many.'

Harry glanced at the pair of them. Ron looked like he was going to be sick, while Hermione was shaking with the effort not to cry or scream in anger.

'Stop it, Crabbe.' He said. 'Stop it.'

'But I'm not finished yet, Potter.' Crabbe hissed vehemently. 'Soon, the Dark Lord returned and kept us all away from her. The plan was beginning for his immortality. Horcruxes were not enough, too many people knew about them now. She conceived his child. His last secret to power.'

'What's that got to do with anything now?' Ron snapped, his mouth dry suddenly. He swallowed. 'He's gone, Crabbe. He's dead. He's not going to touch her ever again.'

Crabbe's face grew more twisted still as he moved to where Hermione was. He kneeled down before her once more, and though she struggled to get away, he brought his hand to her belly. 'The Dark Lord lives through you.'

Hermione was shaking; every ounce of her energy was spent on blocking the vile memories that were circling in her mind. Before she could stop herself she whispered. 'Why me?'

Crabbe smiled and looked about to say something, but was held off with a large bought of coughing. Black smoke curled out of his mouth as thick as poison, making Hermione choke. He had only just recovered when twenty or so witches and wizards apparated into the hall and sent a fling of curses his way. Crabbe quickly deflected them and within seconds his own army of Inferi appeared and got in the battle, with Crabbe leading in the thick of them in the fight against the Auror's.

Dean, with a particularly nasty gash across his forehead, jumped beside the trio and whipped out a knife and started sawing at the bonds that held them. 'Sorry we're late.' He said cheerfully. 'The second you lot got in the defences sprung up.'

Harry massaged his wrists. 'Can't you use your wand?'

Dean shook his head. 'These are cursed, can't you tell? Don't really want my wand to explode in my hands.' Harry nodded grimly and ran off to help fight, while Dean and Ron helped Hermione up. They shared a look of concern. She was as white as a sheet with sweat and tears were mixing on her face, every tiny movement making her gasp in pain – though she knotted her eyebrows and bit her lip to try and stop it.

'How long have your contractions been going on?' Dean asked as he heaved Hermione onto the steps.

She swallowed. 'I – I don't know. A couple of hour's maybe?'

'And you didn't think to mention it?' Ron said incredulously.


	15. Author's Note - Please read

**Author's note: Hello fair readers. In my previous chapter I posted a note explaining my reasoning for Hermione's actions in relation to the Malfoy's. I had no intention to get into a debate, but I will not be insulted. I apologise if I offended anyone but proposing that there is no such thing as an evil person – but that is my opinion and I will not apologise for having one, only for upsetting someone. I am not on crack as some have proposed. I am on Prozac. And I have found that since starting that legal much needed medication that my eyes have been opened to other people. Hitler's actions were evil, but I personally do not believe that they were done with evil intent. I do not believe that anyone with a sane mind wakes up one day and decides to do something evil. There are some who do take pleasure out of evil – I of all people know this, (not because I am evil, again as has been proposed), and in those cases I think that they either need medical attention, or they do it because they have been brought up in an environment that makes them a complete and utter prick. I am eighteen, that is correct, but you do not only grow old in years, but by other means as well. If you would like to get into a fight with me, then please write a letter and then burn it. I have no interest in reading it – while I respect opinions; please remember that I am not in quite a fit mind to be reading insults. **

**This story is not meant to be getting into a political debate. I only meant for it to provide of some entertainment for the people who have kindly messaged me and asked me to continue with it. **

**I am sorry if I have offended and caused any trauma for people. Please do not let it upset you enough to want to argue about it. I don't want to debate with people on this site. I want to write and I want to read stories. I want to escape to a land where I don't have to think about evil actions. Please respect that. xx**


	16. Stay 'til I am sleeping

'Hermione!'

Hermione was shaking in fear as masses of blood poured from between her legs, staining her robes and seeping through onto the bed. She cried out in fear and clung to her husband but was suddenly violently sick down her front and just couldn't seem to stop.

'Is this normal?' Ron asked, panicked as he held his wife in his arms and held a cloth to try and cool her burning forehead. 'Harry, is this normal?'

'I-I don't know.' He stammered. 'Ginny was in pain, but not like this.'

Slowly, blood started to mix with the vomit as it poured out of Hermione's mouth and she began to cry in terror. She tried to speak but found herself only gurgling and choking. Ron pushed her forwards and gently began to rub her back, hoping that it would stop soon.

'Do you know any Healer's magic?' Harry asked desperately.

Ron's face was white. 'Only as much as you do.' He said in a hollow voice. 'Auror stuff. Nothing more nothing less.'

Harry sighed as he raked his hands through his hair. When Hermione began fitting, they rolled her onto her side.

'Get a midwife.' Ron breathed. 'You need to get a midwife. Someone, anyone.'

'By the time they get here she could have-' Harry began to snap. He then sighed. 'We haven't got much time.'

'Why's she so sick? Was she sick, you know, before?' He looked uncomfortable, his ears tinged pink. 'How was she before?'

'Fine.' Harry said honestly. 'None of this. She was fine.'

Hermione managed to turn her head to face the pair of them. Nearly all the light had gone from her eyes and she looked at them dully. 'I'm dying, aren't I?'

Ron held her even closer and kissed her. 'Of course not. Of course not.'

'Don't lie to me.'

'I'm not. I swear, I'm not.' He had tears in his eyes. 'Come on, you can get through this.'

She held up her hand to meet his and entwined her long elegant fingers around him. 'You'll stay with me, won't you?' She breathed. ''Till the end. You won't leave me?'

Ron closed his eyes and rested his head on hers. 'Never.' He whispered. 'I will never leave you.'

'Sleep.' She muttered, her eyes drooping. 'I need to sleep.'

There was nothing that they could do. She was in a slumber before they could even answer. What felt like hours but what could have only been ten minutes passed as they watched her chest rise and fall with each breath, waiting, though they hated themselves for it, for the last one.

'I'm not losing her.' Ron said, more determined than Harry had ever seen them. 'I can't lose her, Harry. I can't.'

Both men jumped when they heard a small faint whisper from Hermione's lips. She was deathly white now, blood trickling from her mouth, sweat from her forehead and tears from her eyes.

'My bag. Get my bag.'

Harry jumped over to grab it. Typical of Hermione, it was far over-packed and he had no idea what it was that she wanted. Finally, he managed to espy a potion down at the bottom. When he got it out he showed it to Hermione who faintly nodded. Gently, Ron lifted her head while Harry poured the contents onto her lips.

After a few minutes, they could see the colour blossom back into her cheeks and her eyes retained some of that original sparkle – but she was still very weak. Too weak to be going through labour.

Ron pulled her back onto his lap and began to stroke her hair. 'It's ok.' He whispered as he kissed her forehead. 'It's ok.'

'They're what I had the nightmares about.' She breathed back, tears still trickling down her face. 'I'm sorry, I just couldn't tell you. I thought that I was sick. I was disgusted with myself. I thought that I was a terrible person for thinking these things.' She began to sob. 'I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry.'

Ron swallowed and didn't say anything. Harry met his eyes, but Ron looked away again.

After twenty minutes or so, it was time for Hermione to push. But every time she strained too much she coughed up blood and nearly went back to her original state. It was a difficult process which none of them relished.

Ron looked at Harry. He didn't say anything but the question was there. Is this Voldemort making things difficult? Is this not supposed to happen? In one sentence, Harry knew that he had literally turned Ron's world upside down. Everything he now did he would question. His very existence was questionable. It was practically an insult.

Hermione's breathing began to slow down and became hollow as if she was struggling to breathe. Harry pressed down on her abdomen and sighed. 'We're nearly there.' He said. 'Just keep on trying, Hermione.'

She mumbled something that was probably an insult and Harry laughed weakly. 'Same old Hermione.' He said softly.

After a pause, Ron placed his hand down on his wife's belly. 'Come on, sweetie.' He whispered. 'Come on.'

She was a girl. But not just any girl. She was her girl. Absolutely beautiful. Hermione couldn't stop herself from counting her fingers and toes and even her eyelashes again and again. She just couldn't believe that she was real. And that she was hers. The baby yawned and nestled into Hermione's shoulder some more. She was still crying, but these were tears of joy. Hermione hadn't even noticed that Harry and Ron had left the tent; she was so wrapped up in her own little bubble of her and her baby.


	17. Tell her that I love her

**Hello! I think I confused some of you: Hermione and baby in tent. Harry and Ron out of tent. Kapiche? Anyway, thank you to some of you who told me to ignore some of the people. (: (: And particularly to 'Guest' who said that I was being possessed by the great lady herself. (: (: xx**

Ron was several feet ahead already. Harry's jog turned into a run and caught up with him. Placing a hand on his shoulder and turning around angrily he said, 'Hey!'

Ron scowled. 'Piss off, Harry. I'm not in the mood.'

Harry smiled somewhat and stood in front of him, blocking his path. 'So you're just leaving now, are you?'

'Get out of the way.' Ron growled.

'After everything you've been through together and now you're walking out on her?'

'I'm not walking out on her!' Ron roared. 'I just need fucking time to think.' His face contorted with the effort not to cry – or at the very least to hit something. The two men looked at one another, neither too sure as what to say next.

It was night time now and Harry shivered as the cold wind whipped around his face.

'I'm supposed to be dead.' Ron whispered hoarsely.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but was beaten to the chase by Ron. 'I know that you said that deaths weren't as certain - but the potential's still there, isn't it? And,' his head dropped down and Harry had to strain to hear him, 'I'm scared that she's not mine.' He said honestly. 'And that one day she'll turn round and say to me, who cares you're not my dad.' He swallowed. 'I'm not leaving them, not ever – but I'm bloody frightened. When I held her in my arms for the first time – I cannot even describe the feeling, I just felt so much love, and I thought about how much she looks like Hermione – and then I just saw him staring back at me, only briefly, but I had to get out of there.'

Harry walked towards his best friend and placed his hands on his arms. 'Look at me.' He said firmly. 'Blood is not who defines us. It is the people who love us that matter. It's hard for me to tell you this because I obviously wasn't raised by my parents – but because they died to save me out of love they still are my parents. Your mum isn't your mum because she gave birth to you, she's your mum because she washed your socks, looked after you when you were ill and read your bedtime stories. Just as your dad is your dad because he's always protected you, taught you how to fly and helped you to become a man. And what's more, they are your parents because they did all that because they genuinely wanted to be your parents – the good bits and the bad bits. I know you, Ron. And I know that you'll make a fantastic father.'

The tips of Ron's ears grew pink. 'Really think so?'

'I know so.' Harry promised.

Ron paused. 'The world won't change, will it?' He said hesitantly. 'I mean, you've changed it once before – will someone do it again? And I'll be dead? And Hermione-' He tailed off.

'I don't know.' Harry said honestly. 'But if they do – I'm changing it back.'

Ron's face broke into a grin. 'The boy who lived.'

'The Chosen One.' Harry corrected him.

Both men laughed.

Ron glanced back towards the tent. 'I won't let her become like him.' He said softly. 'So don't you worry about that. I won't let anyone harm my daughter.'


	18. I'll see her when I wake

**Hello lovers. I'm hoping that this chapter will explain Rose's heritage. Basically, the idea is that you come up with your own theory for it as you read. I don't want to dictate exactly who the father is, just push you in a certain direction. The only definite is that Hermione is her mother. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please rate and review, as that would make me very happy. (This is not the final chapter). xx**

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><p>An inquest into the death of Vincent Crabbe concluded that there was nothing that the auror's could do to protect him. As Bellatrix Lestrange's corpse advanced on George Weasley, she happened to get a glimpse of herself in the large broken ornate mirror that had fallen from the wall over the fireplace. Now, Inferi are only possessed bodies – they do not have the souls of those who used to live in there. However, the body will continue to cling on to old personality traits. For example, although Fenir Greyback's soul was gone – his body still enjoyed the taste of human flesh. In this instance, when Bellatrix Lestrange glimpsed herself in the mirror, she was shocked to find a corpse tinged blue, her black hair falling out in clumps, eyes fallen into their sockets and her skin sunken into her skeleton. She screamed in alarm and grabbed at her skin, trying to push is back into health. As she screamed, her fellow Inferi looked at her and noticed for the first time the change in her. They then looked upon themselves. The bodies began to fight back. Sixty or so Inferi advanced on Vincent Crabbe who screamed in pain as they devoured him. The auror's knew full well the price they'd have to pay if they intervened. They were outnumbered as it was. Instead they retreated towards the door, carrying out their injured. When the Inferi had finished – leaving behind a fully licked carcass, Bellatrix Lestrange came towards the auror's in a plea for help. Though she could not speak, there was a faint humanity in her eyes as she seemed to cry out for them to make her better. They could not. As auror's must do when Inferi are discovered, they locked the doors of the Riddle Mansion, and burned it to the ground.<p>

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><p><em>Ron held his newborn daughter in his arms, tears filling his stunned eyes as he stared at her in wonder. 'What shall we call this little beauty?'<em>

_'Rose.' Harry and Hermione said instantly together._

_Ron and Hermione looked at him in surprise._

_'Because, she's um, pretty?' Harry mumbled. 'It's a pretty name, I guess.'_

_'Why Rose, Hermione?' Ron asked, smiling down at their daughter._

_'It has thorns.' Hermione gave a small frown. 'I guess that just appealed to me. She'll be strong that way.'_

_Ron grinned. 'Rose Eleanor Weasley. I like it.'_

_When he placed their daughter in his wife's arms, and she felt the weight of her baby, and looked into her familiar features. Hermione Granger finally realised what she had been missing all along._

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><p>Now there were more important things to think about. Rose was christened when she was about two weeks old and the party was filled with overjoyed people that the second rebellion had calmed down. Mrs. Weasley spent the entire time with a handkerchief pressed to her eyes, while Mr. Weasley gabbled enthusiastically to Hermione's parents.<p>

'Hermione?' Harry knocked on the door.

'Come in.' She called. 'I'm just changing her.'

Harry entered the bedroom and smiled at his little goddaughter who was kicking her legs and giggling as she lay on the bed while Hermione folded away the long ornate christening gown. Harry leaned over her and pulled silly faces, while Rose tried to reach up and grab onto his glasses.

'How is it down there?' Hermione asked.

Harry grinned. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her brown curly hair that had previously been pinned up in a bun was now falling in strands around her face. It suited her better that way.

'Chaotic.' He promised her. 'Luna's dad is off his face. Genuinely the funniest thing I have ever seen.'

Hermione giggled. 'I'll be down in a bit. I just want some time with my girl.' Smiling, she scooped up her daughter who chuckled with delight and nestled into her. Harry had never seen Hermione look so happy, and yet as she held her there was also something undeniably tragic about the whole situation.

'I've stopped having the nightmares.'

Harry nodded.

'I thought, I thought that it would be easier now that I knew what had happened.' She was obviously trying to keep a strong voice, but it wavered slightly. 'But while it is in some ways, I can't deny now that it ever happened. Which feels silly, because it happened to another Hermione in another place, but-' she tailed off. When she at last managed to look at Harry, her eyes were swimming with tears. 'I was raped.' She whispered. 'And yet they left me with something so beautiful. I know that this Rose is the same as the Rose in my other life. I just can tell. I can feel it. But that terrifies me because she was Voldemort's daughter – and I know that you keep on saying that she's Ron's, and yes in this life she has to be Ron's, but there's still that what if? I know you want Ron to be her father, and he will be, but you can't deny what was written in the stars, Harry. Just like I can't deny these memories of mine that make no sense in this life, but they are still there.'

Harry sat down on the bed beside her and she put her head on his shoulder. They stayed peacefully like that for a few minutes before Harry spoke. 'I know someone.' He said quietly. 'They trained to be an Auror but they struggled with it, but they were really good with people. I recommended him to St. Mungo's and he became someone to talk to, if you're struggling.'

Hermione met his eyes and swallowed. 'I'll feel like an idiot.'

'Don't.' Harry said. 'Think about the Department of Mysteries, Hermione. How it could be Neville in my shoes – but it's not. Yet, if he had thoughts like mine, then you'd tell him to get help, wouldn't you?'

She nodded, but opened her mouth to protest.

'Do it for your daughter.' Harry said. 'If you can't do it for yourself, do it for her. She deserves a happy mum who isn't always worried, who isn't always looking over her shoulder. Rose needs someone who can deal with the fact that at times she might have tendencies to behave a bit like him.'

He watched her consider all of this. She held her daughter close to her and kissed her baby's head. Then finally she nodded. 'Ok. Ok, Harry.'

Harry smiled. 'Sometimes showing the most bravery is by asking for help.'

She gave him a watery smile back. 'Thanks, Harry.'

He stood ready to leave, but as he was at the doorway he heard her say. 'Whose daughter is she really?' She saw him stiffen. 'I mean it, Harry. I know that you know. I know that the centaurs would have talked. You might not have realised it at the time who they were talking about – but they would have said something. And now would be a great time to tell me.'

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><p>'<em>Mars is bright tonight.' Bane said as he looked up at the sky.<em>

_Harry ignored him. He welcomed their company since they'd offered it two days before, but he'd never been interested in Divination. _

'_Saturn isn't holding Jupiter back.' Rane remarked. 'Look how he expands.' _

'_Jupiter is interrupting Venus and the Sun.' Magorian agreed. 'The bond between them is still great, but Jupiter is interfering.' _

'_Mars is joining in the fight.' Bane pointed out. 'He's making them all burn.' _

_Harry managed to zone out as they all wittered on about the planets and how this would effect the alliances. When they began to talk about souls, he groaned as he rolled onto his side to go to sleep._

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><p>'Harry?'<p>

He paused. He'd listened to that conversation. He'd picked up other bits later from his own understanding of centaur teachings. But it was confusing. Slowly he said. 'Rose is Ron's biological child.'

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

'But,' he continued, suddenly understanding for the first time, 'part of her soul is from Voldemort.'

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><p><strong>So, what do you think? xx<strong>


	19. This I swear to you tonight

**Hello all – I am a bit drunk at the moment so this might be peculiar, but I wanted to write so I am writing! A reader informed me that I had shamefully neglect Ron Weasley and she is quite right! So I have decided to set a lot of this chapter from his point of view! Yey! Take centre stage Ron Weasley!**

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><p>'Ron! Ron!' Hermione squealed, bouncing on their bed like a child.<p>

'Huzughawa, who? The fish did it.' Ron said groggily as he was startled awake.

'Come and see what Rose can do!'

Ignoring his sleepiness, Hermione dragged her husband out of bed and he stumbled his way into the nursery.

The nursery had been of Hermione's design as soon as they got home. Half of the wall was dark wood, the top having carved into it roses that seemed to twist and grow as you watched them depending on the hour at night or the season. The rest of the wall was a deep luscious rose pink and on it hung various pictures. Rose with her mother and father. Rose with her mother. Rose with her father. Rose with Harry. Rose with her grandparents. Rose with Ginny. Ron and Hermione. Harry, Ron and Hermione. Ron and Harry. Hermione and Ginny. Ron and Ginny. Harry and Hermione. All were happily waving and smiling and laughing with one another and anyone else who happened to walk into the room. Hermione's father in particular had been delighted with the photographs, having only been in muggle ones before, and had spent hours watching himself in awe and an expression of agog upon his face.

Their infant daughter lay in her cot, bright eyed and bushy tailed as always. Ron fought the temptation to say, 'What is it?' The last time he'd done that, Hermione had wept for about an hour because he hadn't noticed that their daughter had a new curl to her hair. He loved his little girl, truly, he did, but she was a baby. And babies are pretty much bald.

It was quite baffling what was different, and what made Hermione cling on to him so. It was only when he followed his wife's eyeline did his jaw drop open.

Three small balls of light were rotating in a circle above her head. She watched them as if it were her own personal mobile that she'd conjured for herself. Essentially, that was true.

'Isn't she clever?' Hermione breathed. 'I can't believe it. Our baby's showing signs of magic, Ron!'

Ron smiled at his wife, but all he could think in his head was. 'Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. What the fuck am I going to do?'

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><p>When Harry popped in for a tea the next morning with the boys (Ginny was at work), Hermione immediately launched into the signs of magic that Rose had been portraying. For example, earlier that morning, when Hermione was getting ready to read to her daughter, the book that she had been holding flew out of her hands and was almost immediately replaced by another.<p>

'Bloody hell.' Harry said, clearly impressed. 'That's brilliant.'

Hermione nodded eagerly. 'She's always moving things – she hardly ever cries because she lets me know her needs by other ways. I can't explain it, I'll be in the next room and then I'll think, Rose has woken up and she's hungry and I'll immediately leave the room, stopping whatever I was doing beforehand. What about James and Albus?'

Harry shook his head. 'Nothing yet, but Ginny's not concerned – and she knows more than I do about that sort of thing.'

* * *

><p>Two hundred miles away, Ron sat with a Healer who specialised in children and their magic in his office at St. Mungo's.<p>

The office itself was impeccable. White walls with carefully arranged charts and just the one magical photo that was clearly taken professionally of the Healer with another woman.

The desk was made out of a rich mahogany, and on it, pencils and pens were organized like soldiers and the stacks of papers were all identically stacked. Ron couldn't help but think that this guy clearly had too much spare time on his hands.

The Healer himself was just as immaculate. His tanned face was completely ageless. He could have been twenty, he could have been forty. His black hair had been fashioned into what was, at first glance, a rugged style, but then again, there was not a single hair out of place. His piercing blue eyes looked at Ron so intently that he felt like asking if he was a relative of Dumbledore.

'Good morning, Mr. Weasley. I am Healer Roberts.' He said, which spooked Ron somewhat as he initially thought that the Healer had read his thoughts. 'What can I do for you? You're a little bigger than most of my patients.' He said it seriously enough, but there was a glimmer of a wry smile there.

'It's my daughter.' Ron interrupted – he wasn't quite in the mood. 'Rose, her name is.'

The Healer inclined his head into a nod politely.

'Anyway,' Ron continued, swallowing hastily. 'She's started to show signs of magic. And really advanced stuff too.'

'Such as?' The Healer didn't sound overly concerned, but gave Ron and encouraging smile.

'She can make things fly. Not clumsily like you see most kids – but really quite neatly and in order. They're not random everyday things either, they're stuff that she wants at the time and she wants to fly them. Then there's making things change. My great aunt Muriel got her this little orange dress – hideous, but that's Muriel for you, and when we put it on her it changed to blue right in front of our very eyes – of course, Muriel wasn't very impressed and got all snotty and then she-' he cut off, embarrassed. He'd been babbling. 'Anyway,' he plunged on, 'my wife, her mother, she's muggleborns and thinks that this is great, but I-' he tailed off helplessly and looked appealing at the Healer who nodded.

'It's natural to be concerned.' Healer Roberts said soothingly. 'So many parents come to me thinking that they're alone. After raising a child wholly dependent on you and you thinking that you know all there is about them and then suddenly they turn around and show off a new skill can be terrifying. But in a few years when she's eight or so then it will all calm down again. Until then, just be supportive – she's probably got a lot of questions too.'

'But-' Ron began in frustration.

Healer Roberts held up a finger to silence him. 'Come now, you knew that this was going to happen – it is completely normal for a child to begin to show signs – although yours do sound very advanced when they are five.'

'But that's just the problem.' Ron burst out. 'She's not five.'

All of Healer Roberts blasé attitude from before drowned away from his was. 'Then how old is she?'

'Two-'

'A two year old?' He interrupted. 'Well, highly unusual, but it is heard of – often when magic has been held up for quite a few generations and has been building up for quite some while.'

'Months.' Ron spoke loudly over his muttering. 'Two months.'

Healer Roberts looked at him startled. 'Why, that's impossible.' He breathed. 'No babe in arms can, has ever been able to.'

Ron slid a picture across the desk, as he did so, he was embarrassed to notice that he managed to swipe his fingerprints along the gleaming wood and left a greasy mark. It didn't go unnoticed by Healer Roberts either, who neatly got out a handkerchief and wiped it away before accepting the photograph.

He smiled at it. You couldn't help but smile at Rose's infectious grin. When Hermione had rather uncomfortably bumped into the Malfoy's – even they were drawn in by her infectious grin. Certainly, becoming a father himself seemed to have calmed Draco down a little as he made faces for the giggling Rose. Narcissa kept on exclaiming about how pretty baby girls were and nagging Draco to have another child, and Lucius even peered into the pram with polite interest and gasped in delight as she reached up to clasp his hair in her little fat fists.

Then the Healer's eyes drifted up to the most important part, the circling orbs of light.

'What are these?' He asked, pointing.

Ron shrugged. 'My wife and I wondered if it was the light from the light bulbs?'

Healer Roberts looked very much at that point as if he was preventing himself from saying anything.

'I mean, maybe.' Ron amended hastily, upon seeing the look on the Healer's face, the tips of his ears growing pink. 'We don't really know, it's only a maybe.'

'What is your wife's blood status?'

'Muggleborn.'

'So, no magical blood?'

'Well-' Ron began angrily.

Healer Roberts held up his hands. 'Forgive me, I did not mean for that to sound prejudiced. I speak as a Healer only.'

'Yeah, well.' Ron slid into his seat grumpily, taking the photograph back as he did so. 'She is magical.'

The Healer raised his eyebrow. 'Blood isn't everything you know. Yours?'

Ron pursed his lips in reluctance. 'Pure.' He grunted.

Healer Roberts noted this down as well. 'How was the child conceived?'

Ron blushed. 'Uh, the normal way?'

Healer Roberts laughed. 'Forgive me. I meant to ask if you had the aid of any potions in trying to conceive, or if it had been an accident that you were seeking to prevent at the time of conception?'

'Oh. Well, we weren't not trying. But we weren't trying either. Hermione had a miscarriage some months before.' He felt a lump in his throat but ignored it. 'Quite late in the pregnancy as well. I think that she was given some medication to get her body back to normal. And I've never needed anything.' He added hastily as an afterthought.

Healer Roberts ignored that, he only looked kindly into Ron's eyes. 'That must have been hard on the both of you.' He said softly.

Ron swallowed. 'Yeah, well, Hermione was gutted – obviously. She was diagnosed with depression soon after. She couldn't sleep. She wouldn't eat. It was awful.'

'How did you feel?'

Ron shrugged, he could feel the back of his neck burning. 'Like I needed to be there for her.'

'Let's forget about Hermione for a moment.' The Healer said gently. 'How did the loss of a child affect you?'

There was a pause.

'Terrible.' Ron finally admitted, tears in his eyes. 'There was nothing I could do, nothing that any of us could do. But one minute I was a dad, and the next I wasn't.' He sniffed. 'I'm sorry; I'm not great with words.'

'Take your time.'

Ron looked up as if trying to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. He hated showing weakness. 'I think that I would have made a great dad.' He said softly. 'I mean, I know that I am now, but everyone keeps on saying how I am a dad for the first time, and how Rose is my first baby – but I just feel so guilty about my other baby, the one that's buried. Parents are supposed to protect their children, and I can't help wonder that I did something that caused it.'

'What makes you say that?'

It was too late. Tears were falling down his cheeks. 'Like, I was making Hermione and I dinner a lot towards the end – it was easier for her because she needed to sit down and rest a lot, and I was happy to do it. And so I could have cooked something bad. And I had redecorated the house, so there was a lot of paint fumes everywhere which could have harmed the baby. Or maybe, I had a faulty gene that was passed on.'

'Or maybe,' Healer Roberts interrupted gently, 'you and Hermione were wonderful but things like this just happen. I cannot tell you why, but they do. And I think that while your wife has been able to grieve, you have not?'

Ron shook his head. Then nodded. Then shook his head again.

'I think,' Healer Roberts ploughed on, 'you feel that it's your duty as man of the house to stay strong and to be there for your wife. But it's ok for you to grieve. You may not have held your child in your arms, seen them smile, watched them grow, seen their eyes open and look at you, but you still loved them and you need to grieve.'

Ron nodded.

Healer Roberts left it a moment for Ron to compose himself and then carried on. 'When did you first show signs of magic.'

'Uh,' Ron said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, 'I was five. My fifth birthday. Mum had lit all the candles and just as I was about to make a wish, my older brother Fred blew out the candles. I howled at Mum ran off to get her wand to light them again. But as she came back into the room, I looked at the candles and they came back on again. We spent ages blowing them out and me relighting them so that everyone in the family could have a wish. I later learnt to create fire in the air and to hold it in my bare hands. I stopped eventually because I nearly set the house on fire.' He grinned at the memory.

'And your wife?'

Ron paused. Hermione told everyone two stories. One was the truth, and the other was a lie. Well, it wasn't quite a lie, but it came second not first. The second time there was a bus hurtling towards a little old lady with her shopping. Hermione was five, and as she watched, everything slowed down and she knew what to do. She blew at the lady and a great gust of wind picked her up and pushed her out of the way of the oncoming bus.

Of course, seeing as Hermione was muggleborns and her parents did not think to be on the lookout for magic in their daughter – no one could really be too sure what exactly Hermione's first act of magic was. Although her parents did say that it explained a lot. Hermione's first conscious act of magic came when she was four – a precocious age apparently. And it was thankfully that it happened then. She'd been playing happily in the park with her parents nearby when a strange man came up to her. From where she was at that moment, her parents couldn't see her and they presumed that she was queuing for the slide. They would have seen through the gates if anyone left the park. The man spoke to Hermione. He told her that she was special, he was special too apparently and he knew a lot of people who wanted to meet her. He told her that they were in a club and that she could join in too if she liked. Hermione wasn't sure. She was a very shy and reserved child who took books with her to parties, so the prospect of joining a club wasn't exactly appealing to her. When she looked hesitant, the man told her that she was going to be part of their very special story. No one else would do apparently, it had to be her. Still, Hermione wasn't buying it, so she said that she wanted her mummy and daddy and made to go away. But the man grabbed her and lifted her up, she screamed but he held his hand tight over her mouth. Hermione felt terrified. And angry. She felt a powerful current go throughout her body and it shocked him to the floor as he burst into flames. Immediately, another adult who was dressed strangely like him stood over him and got rid of the flames. Hermione did not see how, she was too busy staring as the electricity crackled from her fingertips. When the other man made to grab her, she shocked him with this new power and ran away to her parents. But when they got there under a minute later, they were both gone.

Despite it happening so long ago, telling that story seemed pretty hard on her still, as if she were still that dame four year old who was frightened.

'Interesting.' Healer Roberts remarked when Ron told him both stories. 'Both of your first causes of magic are related to some form of electricity.'

'Is that important?'

'Perhaps. You both seemed to be linked by fire. The rest of your family?'

Ron grinned. 'I have a large family.'

'Your parents then?'

'Six and seven.'

'Your siblings?'

'Similar ages.'

'So you were more advanced?'

A warm beam of triumph fluttered in Ron's stomach. 'Yeah.' He said proudly, 'Yeah, I guess you could say that.'

The Healer made a note. 'And just to clarify, you are the child's biological father, yes?'

'Yes.' Ron said automatically. He'd been blocking what Harry had said in the tent that night when Rose was born ever since, and did not like to think of it again. It made him feel honestly quite sick, and he was terrified that he'd end up taking it out on his daughter, Rose.

The Healer made another note. 'Now.' He said gravely, clasping his hands together and leaning forwards on his desk, his blue eyes peering intently at Ron. 'I must ask you something serious, and I must insist that you tell me the truth – to the best of your ability that is – if you do not know then that is fine. Has your child ever harmed anyone?'

Ron recoiled in shock. 'No.' He said incredulously – scarcely believing his ears. 'No, of course not.'

Healer Roberts leaned back in his chair and considered. 'Leave this for now, let us see how she goes. It may be that this is temporary – a throwback from your first child who died in the womb. Her powers may leave her and then return again when she's reader.'

'And if she carries on this way?'

The Healer looked away briefly before meeting his eyes once more. 'If she starts to display signs of magic that differ from normal magic,' he began slowly, 'and I mean more so than the ones now that she is showing at the moment, then I would advise that you bring her to me and that we carry on treatments here.'

He nodded at Ron, who took this as a sign of dismissal. Shaking his hand and thanking him, Ron got up to leave, but as he was at the door he heard the Healer say, 'by the way, Mr. Weasley, I would advise you to keep this matter between these four walls. There are some who would not like this. Some who could argue, quite convincingly, that this is Dark Magic.'

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><p>Ron had stacks of paperwork to get through at work, but instead he left them and decided to go to the library. He was so lost in thought as he made his way through the muggle streets that he did not notice as he crossed the road that a double deckered bus was hurtling towards him.<p>

It smacked into him at full force and he was thrown to the floor like a ragdoll, landing with a crack on the road and whacking his head.

About twenty or so muggles ran to him, the bus driver was white and shaking with fear. 'I just didn't see him.' He mouthed in shock. 'He was just there so suddenly.' Some were merely observers, others were getting out their phones (a concept that Ron still didn't understand and laughed whenever they talked about phone hacking on the muggle news) and one woman was even crying at the sight of this young man's blood spilling out of his head and into the gutter. Yet, to everyone's surprise, the young man got up and dusted himself down. The muggles looked astonished and even more flummoxed when he insisted that he was alright and didn't need an ambulance (whatever that was, he'd have to ask Hermione later when he got home). As he walked away and the scene behind him melted in to what it was before, he was staggered to find that he'd felt no pain and still no pain, instead only feeling the blood trickle down his forehead. Although witches and wizards do not feel the same amount of pain as a muggle (it helps when playing Quidditch) to be hit by a double decker bus and to be bleeding so profusely without even wincing was unusual. As Ron paused to duck behind an alleyway to quickly fix his head with his wand, he considered the last time he'd actually felt pain. It was years in fact. He supposed that he'd grown up and was stronger. When he'd siphoned off the remaining blood and was satisfied that the cut was healed, he made his way out again to the library.

Ron smiled as he remembered the first time that he came to the library with Hermione. It was just after they'd gotten engaged and he wanted to surprise her. He remembered how her eyes glowed and her cheeks sparkled rosy pink with excitement as she beheld the enormous white marble building encrusted with gold leaf, crystal floors that made you believe that you could see glimmers of the past beneath you – half a dozen men in old fashioned robes all laboriously and carefully copying out books. High above them was a domed ceiling where dozens of owls roosted and looked down upon them all, guarding the very top of the ceiling where, in the centre, there was a slowly rotating crystal. Ron had no idea what the importance of it was, but that there were legends of it being found hundreds of years ago encrusted into a tree in a forest in Albania. But it was the bookcases themselves in the other room that made Hermione squeal in delight. Towering over everyone at about fifty feet, they, like the stairs at Hogwarts, never liked to stay in the same place for too long. Instead, they would move around quite rapidly to park themselves in front of a person who needed to find that particular section. (Ron had reliably informed Hermione that to search by foot potentially took about two days of good hard work). The bookcases would always give a little shake when they were about to leave and if you were so inclined to stay with them, you could hop on them and be taken along for the ride.

There were roughly about 5,000 different sections of books. Ranging from Famous Witches and Wizards of the 20th Century (Ron always felt smug whenever he saw it because there was a chapter dedicated to him in there), to Why did Humpty Dumpty fall of the wall? A sinister look into muggle crime. Ron reassured himself that if he were going to find any helpful information, then he would find it in here. For some moments he stood at the bookcase section for History of Elves and then watched as it hurtled away at rocket speed to be met with the section Centaurs.

While other magical creatures had many sections dedicated to their own particular race, the Centaurs did not. As they were so secretive, it was lucky that they got anything at all really. It was just the one bookcase for the Centaurs and a lot of it was careful to adhere to Political Correctness – too careful in fact. He knew from his time as a youth that all of these books refused to announce them as half-man, half-horse.

Ron's brown eyes glanced over the range of titles, nothing really capturing his interest. Eventually, he turned to the intricate wooden carving of the nymph on the side of the bookcase and knocked three times on its head. The Nymph's eyes opened. A fantastic shade of violet, they looked left to right before finally locating Ron Weasley. The Nymph smiled in its charmingly sinister way and slowly moved out of the bookcase where it had been, which immediately smoothed over with the same brown wood again. Now, although nymphs are the size of a two year old, like house-elves, and are not permitted to wear human clothes, like house-elves, they were not, in fact, house-elves. While it is a house-elf's greatest wish to serve their family well and not to receive clothes for their freedom, nymphs are not so like that. Neither are they a band of Dobby's. Nymph's a remarkably clever, far too clever for their own good almost, and although far kinder than Goblins, at least you know where you are with a Goblin. It is a dangerous thing to behold an untrained nymph.

Ron looked at the Nymph and the Nymph looked at him.

'I need a book on centaur astrology.' Hermione would hate the authority in his tone and nag him about it, but t needed to be done. She didn't quite know nymphs like he did.

The Nymph cocked its head at him.

Ron sighed. 'Please?'

At once the Nymph scurried up the shelves, climbing only with its arms and legs for support, its toes and fingers clinging onto the grooves on the carved design on the side, from one shelf to the other. Finally, it felt to the floor.

'Brosientia has looked.' The Nymph said. 'But the truth cannot be found. There only be how a centaur ought to be cooked and how to skin a centaur.'

Ron grimaced. 'I'm fine without either of those. Shall I get a blank book?' Blank books were wonderful. Whatever you needed, they would provide it. Forgotten the words to a speech that you wrote? – there it is. Wondered what you thought yesterday? – there it is. Wanted to know what you dreamt last night? - there it is. Questioned what a word meant? - there it is. A blank book will present books and other bits of information depending on your desire.

'Perhaps.' The Nymph said craftily. 'A book to write or one to tell you what is right?'

Ron grew impatient now. 'Then what are you suggesting?' He said angrily.

The Nymph bit its lip, normally a rosy pinkish colour, but as the jagged pearly white tooth bit a dark blue rushed to the surface. 'What do you really want to know?'

'I told you.' Ron snapped. 'Centaur astrology – it's for work.'

The Nymph shook its head. 'Master lies.'

Ron sighed. There were rumours of nymph's abilities to read minds and he didn't like the idea of this little creature invading his. The Nymph however, ignored this and instead gestured for him to get onto the bookcase.

Ron looked at the little creature. 'You don't know anything.' He said bluntly.

The Nymph smiled and shrugged. 'Then you will humour me and this little visit will prove nothing and I will apologise and leave.' It held onto the shelf. 'But if you do not come, then you will be wondering.'

Ron's jaw set, and with feigned nonchalance and even slight annoyance, he too held onto the bookcase.

Almost instantly it whipped the two of them away. Faster and faster, they seemed to spin in the darkness. Ron felt sick. He had visions of himself falling off and somehow ending up in Antarctica, when suddenly the bookcase came to an abrupt hault, with such force that it caused Ron to be flung to the floor. Angrily, he massaged his hands and knees while the Nymph sprung off quite lightly.

His surroundings were not recognisable to him; he couldn't believe that he was in the library still. The walls were of a dark stone grey as were the tiles on the floor, and the whole area seemed to have a residue of watery slime as if at one point this place had been flooded. There were no windows, nor any form of light source available to him. Ron honestly couldn't imagine a gloomier place.

The Nymph snapped its fingers and at once a flame sprung up onto them. 'Better?'

Ron grunted in thanks and peered around. He still couldn't see much better. But now he could at least make out the silhouette of some musty old curtains. Red, he thinks, and aged with time. And that is still all he can see.

The Nymph bids him to come over with a crook of its finger.

'I was under the impression that I was going to find a book.'

The Nymph said nothing, but instead stroked the cloth of the curtain and bid him over once more.

Ron snorted. 'I'm not going in there. I know what you're kind are like, Nymph.'

The Nymph's face was in shadow, but Ron didn't need a vast imagination to work out that the expression on its face was probably angry. 'My name is Brosientia.' It said quietly. 'Kindly remember that.'

Ron's jaw tightened. He wasn't being cruel. He just understood the power that Nymph's could have if you let them. He knew the stories of wizards becoming friends with Nymph's. Loving Nymph's. They would grow to human size and more akin to human form and they would become intimate with Nymph's. They would be completely and utterly spellbound as Nymph's slowly ripped the flesh off of their bones. Just by calling a Nymph by its name was the walk into a death sentence.

'Your wife would call me by my name.' The Nymph said slyly.

Ron stamped his foot as if he were going to charge towards the Nymph. It had the desired effect, as the Nymph immediately squealed and sunk back in to a more submissive position.

'Please,' the Nymph said, when recovered, 'the knowledge lies within.'

He felt like an idiot, but Ron just couldn't bring himself to go into an arch with a curtain that had no clue as to what was behind it. Harry was the same.

'Why is it in there?' He grunted.

The Nymph spoke softly. 'Death.'

At once, Ron started, but the Nymph continued. 'Not the death of a physical kind, oh no, this is the death of another kind. Be careful what you pick up in there, for even if you think to have a harmless browse – in this room is knowledge that you can never unlearn. It is a knowledge that will stay with you forever. Behind this curtain, is the death of ignorance, that is true. But it is also the death of hope. Can you live like that? Or, will you find that turning away now and never finding answers will also haunt you to the end of your days?'

Ron's heart was beating fast. The Nymph had a point. He was a good enough man to be a father to Rose, no matter what facts he considered whilst in this room, but there were more things that he wanted to know. His own mortality. The safety of his family and friends – what if things changed again? What if he came back? How many other parallels are there? It was all too much. His breathing was shallow and he licked his dry lips as he frowned slightly in concentration in making his decision. Then, with a strong posture, he walked inside the arch. And left his hopes at the door.

* * *

><p>By the time Ron came home, it was only six o'clock and yet Hermione was fast asleep on the sofa. For a moment, he paused in the doorway and watched her. Dressed in one of her purple silk day dresses (which was actually a vintage Geisha under robe) it swathed around her lean body so that he could make out her long legs and tiny waist. One arm was resting up by her head so that her body was arched slightly forwards and her head was tilted out to the side. Her rosy mouth was parted slightly open as if waiting for a kiss and he looked in fascination at all the different blends of colour in her face. How the lids of her eyes started at cream and then melted down into beige and then brown and at the line of her lashes a soft black. The rest of her face was sun kissed, while the contours were darker with a shimmer of light around the outside. Her brown curls fell in a beautiful disarray around her and the other arm was hanging over the side of the sofa, her long elegant fingers still holding onto her book, one finger still marking the page as to where she was at.<p>

_Tess D'Urbervilles_.

He smiled.

He doubted that she was cold, but he still slipped off his jacket and carefully draped it around her. She stirred slightly and made a noise that could have been the beginning of a song. She smiled slightly, as if she knew that he were there. Gently, he stroked her face and kissed her forehead. For a moment, she seemed to respond, as if she might grab his hand in her sleep, but she did not. Ron rose from the sofa and carefully made his way out of the room so as not to disturb her. He gave a final look and closed the living room door, before slowly tiptoeing up the stairs towards Rose's nursery.

What had begun as golden orbs two mornings ago, had now evolved into magically dancing golden creatures. He watched her as her brown eyes, as intent as her mothers, created new things. He watched as she made them dance for her. He watched as the ones she didn't like, were dissolved and recreated.

When Ron stepped closer towards the crib, Rose looked towards him and broke out into a big smile. He was stunned. This wasn't the first time that she had smiled at him, she had been doing that for quite a while now, but that was only when he initiated it. She had just smiled for him quite independently, just because she recognised him and was glad to see him.

'Hey.' Ron said softly, gently picking her up. 'Hey, baby girl.'

Rose was the mirror image of her mother. Mrs. Weasley was on the verge of giving up looking for any other traits. She raised one of her tiny hands to reach up to Ron's face, which Ron kissed. Then, she gave a tiny little yawn and settled into sleep against his shoulder.

As he felt the warmth of her as she nestled against him, Ron felt the happiest that he had felt in a long time.

He felt alive.

'I'm here Rose. I'm here.' He whispered. 'I'll always be here. And I will always be your Daddy.'

* * *

><p><strong>Bleugh, I am getting bored with this story. Really feel that I cannot write for shite at the moment. But I will not give up! I hate having something unfinished! And yes, it has still ended ambiguously, I know, but I want people to come to their own conclusions rather than being spoon fed. And I hope that Ron doesn't come across too harsh to you all. I think that he's just a strong character and has been a little bit hardened recently. I like him anyway, and that's all that matters. Please review. Especially nice things. I'd like to say only nice things, but that's not possible. Love you xx<strong>


	20. Your child will live within my care

**Sorry for the very slow update guys – I've been in hospital and just got discharged today. Thank you to those who support these stories – some have questioned this whole alternate universe thing and how it cannot exist in the Harry Potter universe – but this is my spin-off story so it does. Also, there is a very sweet reviewer who occasionally will leave me anonymous comments ridiculing the fact that I take anti-depressants. That's not something for me to be offended by. It's just a fact. It's estimated that 1 in 3 of us will take some form of anti-depressants at some point in our lives. That's all I've got to say on the matter. This is a looooong chapter by the way. Good luck. xx**

* * *

><p>Five years later.<p>

'Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiine!' Hugo roared. 'That's miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiine!'

Hermione leaned round the doorway. She wore her normal muggle clothes, blue denim jeans, a black three-quarter sleeve cut-off top and a red scarf tied around her bushy ponytail. Her face had lost some of that youthful glow, but with that change a new beautiful elegance had come over her, angling her face and highlighting her cheekbones. And yes, her brown eyes had lost that gleam of hopefulness – but it had been replaced by a glow of love that only mothers have.

'Rose.' She said warningly. 'Give it back.'

Rose met her gaze steadily for a few moments. 'I'm just looking.'

Hugo whimpered and made to open his mouth again to give another shriek, but his mother interrupted. 'Rose.' She repeated. 'I will not ask you again.'

Calmly, Rose handed back the teddy bear, which Hugo embraced as if he were a brother who he thought he had lost in war. Hugo was just over three and was the spitting image of his father, with only his mother's curl in his hair. He'd also inherited most of his father's personality traits too. Kind, fiercely loyal and over-protective, funny and with an absolute terror of spiders.

Rose, on the other hand, was the image of her mother. Hermione liked to think that she was a child blessed by the sun. She had a glow to her cheeks and scarlet threaded through her curled brown hair. And her eyes would turn from brown in winter to hazel in summer and flash dark when she was angry. The latter was a trait that had always unnerved people, but thankfully, it rarely happened. Even now when she'd been told off she was perfectly happy to carry on playing.

Hermione smiled and disappeared back into the kitchen. Ron was coming home from work soon, (he'd had to use the phone seeing as Hermione refused to have a fireplace with such small children in the house and didn't like having owls constantly flying in and out unless it was an emergency), and had sounded incredibly stressed so she'd decided to have dinner sorted for him so he could relax. She knew that some of her friends would have a fit if they found out that she was behaving like a housewife, but he'd do the same for her.

She wasn't quite the cook that Molly Weasley was, but she'd improved drastically since they'd first got together. Every once in a while, Mrs. Weasley would insist that the women all crowd into the kitchen to learn how to cook for her boys (Harry had always wanted to help, but was shooed out), and despite Ginny's protestations of being a feminist, they'd spend the next two hours being domesticated. On the plus side, the men always did the washing up.

Hermione flicked her wand at the potatoes and broccoli and they began to simmer, the carrots were chopping by themselves and now she only needed to get started on the Yorkshire's. Hugo toddled in and smacked into her knees holding up his sippy cup and left again to play when it was filled. Rose was also off playing somewhere and the household was, for once, in a reasonably calm state.

But as Hermione was stirring the gravy, she suddenly felt an agonizing blow to the head and fell forwards with a small cry. The pain was excruciating, but there was no one there to have hit her with anything. Still, the headache did not leave and she felt like she was going to violently throw-up or black out, anything to try and relieve some of the pain. Staggering towards the bathroom, Hermione felt like her senses were on fire. Things were so much clearer somehow, but it didn't do her any favours. Now, with her hands on either side of the sink, Hermione raised her face to her reflection and gasped in horror by what she saw. She passed out.

* * *

><p><em>Breakfast was bread and milk at 7:45. Then she would bathe and dress in a simple soft grey robe – silk in the summer, soft wool in the winter. She was barefoot mostly, but sometimes had cotton slippers for the winter. She didn't go outside so there was no need for proper shoes. She had maids who would come in and do her hair and make her look alive. Then, when she was deemed well enough, the male servants would come in and check for anything that could be used as a weapon. They never found anything anymore. There was no point in trying to conceal something from a wizard. Particularly, a dark wizard. She would then be escorted to her daughter's room and care for her there under the watch of others – just to make sure that she didn't say anything unfavourable. She would teach her her lessons and play with her and cuddle her and be the best mother that she possibly could. Her daughter wore white and always had her hair down. She too did not have proper shoes as she didn't go outside. Lunch was served at 12 – soup. Dinner at 5 – Meat and vegetables. She would bathe her daughter and put her to bed at 7 and then be escorted back to her own rooms. Potions and pills came in for her at 8. She could read until 9, and then she would be put to bed and the lights were turned out. <em>

_Hermione Granger's life had turned into a dictated routine of nothingness, where she lived only for the sake of her beloved daughter. Sometimes, she would catch herself thinking of a time when there was more to this life. When she would read a book of her own choosing, rather than one specifically chosen for her. A life where she could see new people, or even the same old people – but people whom she loved nonetheless. A life where she could go outside. _

_When the lights went out, she waited an hour for them to stop watching her. At first she'd counted, but now she knew the time slot so well she knew instinctively when to get up. She'd find her way across the dark – easily done now that she knew her way so well, and with as little noise as possible move the box that contained her clothes to the high window. Carefully, so that the wood wouldn't creak – she'd stand on it and go on her tiptoes to see through the glass window. It was always dark, she scarcely saw the sun these days, and she'd stare at the grass in fascination. Savouring it. Taking it all in. Something so trivial as a blade of grass made her so intensely happy. She also saw hedges. And the woods. The woods were an escape route. Whenever she thought about that, it frightened her and she turned away. Yet, no matter how upset it made her feel afterwards – she always remembered to put the box back in its original place. If they found out what she'd been up to, the window would be bricked up for sure. And she couldn't let that happen. _

_Now, she was watching with the maids as the men turned over her things, searching for wands, daggers, bits of broken glass, rocks, rope – even thread was seen as dangerous. Some scowled at her, some of the newer ones looked at her in curiosity, and the older ones just looked about doing their duty – not having any particular feeling towards her whatsoever. The maids, Hermione had found out, were women who had had their tongue cut out for one reason or another. Now, they kept vials of potions around their neck to drink at every hour to keep them obedient. Their only purpose in life now was serving others. Yet Hermione still envied them. They could go outside. _

'_Nothing here.' Decepti called over to Indocte. 'I think that we're fine for the moment.' _

_Rudis, on the other hand, disagreed and kept them searching while Hermione adopted her normal expression of calm and brainwashed state. She honestly didn't know how it took them half an hour every morning to do this. Her room was not exactly large and contained only a bed, a box filled with her clothes and a table stand for a candle that was removed from her each night and a book that was also removed from her each night. She could use her clothes to strangle them, but she was always outnumbered. She could try to hang herself from her clothes, but there was nowhere for it to be hooked onto. Smothering herself had always been proved to be unsuccessful – and in any case, she had her daughter now and was determined not to leave her. _

_Eventually, they admitted defeat and assembled their positions around her. Decepti and Indocte on either side, gripping onto her arms, and Rudis behind with his wand pointed into the small of her back. Well, more often than not it was his wand. _

_She sometimes smirked at all this fuss over her. She'd thought that they would have began to lie low, but she'd discovered that lax security was not something that was taken very lightly. It must be annoying for them, she thought, to have joined the Dark Lord's service only to find themselves guarding a strange little mudblood rather than out fighting with him. What a disappointment that must have been. _

_When she got to her daughter's rooms, her whole persona changed. _

'_Mummy!' Rose cried and ran at her in delight. Hermione caught her in her arms and held her close. Rose would always wriggle and want to be on the move again, but Hermione would always hold her for a little while longer. Just a little while. _

_Her guards left them and only the maids remained. They did not have wands, but they were perfectly able to go and fetch someone or take Rose away if needs be. Hermione knew that their kindly costume was deceiving. These women had been left bitter by disappointment and now their only happiness was in spoiling the other. The best thing to do was to ignore them. _

_Rose had had her breakfast, and now Hermione was getting her ready and dressed for the day into her little white robe. She wistfully thought of all the beautiful clothes that she would have loved to dress her daughter in in the old days, but now it was no longer possible. It wasn't just the Mansion that had a uniform. It was all over Europe. The muggles were still blissfully unaware of the magic involved, but they were still affected by a new order of things. Although magical and non-magical people were now kept apart by walls, the muggles had a new dictator for themselves – Dolohov. The muggles still wore most of their usual clothing, however. But in the magical world, Voldemort and his chosen would wear black and purebloods would wear green. Half-bloods could wear blue, common magical people who were more like the Weasley's in luxury would wear yellow, all servants wore a darker less glamorous green and a badge of their master sewn onto the top and children of the first two ranks wore white. Foreigners in general wore orange. Rich and powerful foreigners wore purple. There were a few other colours such as pink and various other shades, but it was too complicated to really work out and no one was too sure what to do so they just stuck to the original. Traitors wore red. Not that a traitor wore that for very long. To be given a red robe was the sign of your execution. Voldemort was a tidy ruler. He didn't like too many bloodstains. _

'_Mummy,' Rose looked up at her curiously, 'are you alright?' _

_Hermione blinked and came out of her daydream. 'Sorry, love.' She smiled kindly. 'I'm fine, I was just thinking.' _

_Rose had learnt from an early age not to question what anyone was ever thinking about. Somehow, it had made her even more intensely curious, and instead put that passion into her learning. _

_Sometimes Hermione found herself pinching herself because she couldn't believe that this beautiful wonderful girl was her daughter. She was perfect in every way. _

_Today, Rose was copying out sentences that Hermione wrote for her and reading them aloud. _

'_T-he'_

'_Try again.' Hermione said gently. 'Remember what we said about t and h when they go next to each other and what sound they make.' _

_Rose's brow furrowed slightly in concentration as she started to try and sound it out again. Eventually, she triumphantly got it and carried on. Later, when the moved onto sums and counting Rose piped up. 'Mummy, why do people have different colour eyes?' _

_Hermione was slightly taken aback. _

'_Because,' Rose continued, 'Mrs. Malfoy has blue eyes and you have brown eyes and so do I and Mr. Malfoy has blue eyes and Nelly has green eyes and I want to know why.' _

'_Well,' Hermione began, 'that's simple really. When a baby is growing in a tummy, there is a tiny paintbrush and paint that colours the baby in. Because you're my daughter and you grew in my tummy, we used the same paint and so we have the same eyes. Mr and Mrs Malfoy have the same colour eyes because they have the same great-great grandmother.' _

_Rose nodded thoughtfully and carried on. _

_An idea hit Hermione. Carefully, she lowered her voice and carried on talking to her daughter, worried that the maids would be listening. 'What if I were to tell you that everyone who has brown eyes is better than those who have blue eyes?' _

_Rose looked up at her. 'That would make me very happy.' _

'_Would it? Why?' _

'_Because I have brown eyes, and so I'm the best.' _

'_That's right. Ok, so now let's say that people with blue eyes are better than those with brown eyes.' _

_Rose looked anxious. 'But I thought that I was the best?' _

'_Well, now let's say that you're not anymore. How does that make you feel?' _

_Rose's head dropped. 'Sad.' _

'_And how do you suppose the people with the blue eyes feel?' _

_She was still drooping. 'Happy.' _

'_Like how you felt when you were the best?' _

_Rose nodded. _

'_And do you think that the people blue eyes felt like you do now when you were the best?' _

_A pause. Then Rose nodded again. _

'_Is that nice? That people are sad?' _

_Rose shook her head. 'Especially me. When I'm sad. That's not good.' _

_Hermione smiled. 'But what about other people? They feel just like you do.' _

_Rose looked up at her mother. 'That's not good.' She whispered. 'Because then they will be sad too.' She pouted slightly. 'I wish that you hadn't said that one was better than the other one.' _

'_Ok, then.' Hermione said cheerfully. 'We'll forget about it. Everyone is the same again. No one is better than the other, just because they are slightly different.' _

_Rose smiled too and went back to her work. _

_Hermione gave a small sigh of relief. Each day, she vowed, she would tell Rose stories like this, and they would learn that neither was better than the other. She was not going to have her daughter become like her father. _

'_Hello.' Narcissa bustled into the room some days later, with a large bouquet of flowers. 'How are you today?' _

'_Nissy!' Rose squealed and bounded up to this glamorous blonde woman whom she had idolised for most of her years. 'Come and play!' _

_Narcissa laughed and gave her a hug. She then knelt before the child and kissed her own the nose and held out her two fists. 'Which one?' _

_It was a game they often played. Rose's eyes shone with delight as she looked between the two hands. 'This one.' She said after a fashion, and determinedly pointed at the left hand. Narcissa laughed and gave her the sweet. When Rose dashed off to go and fetch some more toys, Narcissa dropped the other one in Hermione's lap. 'And this one's for mummy.' She winked. _

_Hermione smiled gratefully. 'You're so good with her.' _

_The relationship with the two women had started badly seeing as they were polar opposites, but now Narcissa was the only person whom Hermione could put her trust in. After the death of her son, Narcissa had become a wreck. Draco was also her reason for living. And with him gone, she felt like she no longer had a purpose. One day, she happened to be drifting around the Mansion when she heard a baby crying and some additional muffled sobs. When she opened the door, she found a struggling Hermione who didn't really know what she was doing or how to care for a baby. Narcissa found her purpose again and taught her everything she knew, this time learning from her past mistakes. _

_Narcissa smiled fondly at the little girl. 'It's nice to have a child in this house again. Everything's too solemn. But in a child's world, they can find a light even in the darkest of times.' _

_Narcissa often spoke this way. Draco's murder had made her incredibly bold – if not a little foolish at times, but the maids wouldn't report her. She was a senior lady, much higher than them, and they would be executed if they were seen to be tarnishing the good Malfoy name. _

_Hermione, on the other hand, was less lucky. _

_When Rose came back with a book, Narcissa lifted her onto her lap and helped her to read aloud while Hermione tidied up the nursery. She had the staff to do this for her, but she needed to keep some idea of realism in this situation. And if washing her child's clothes was making it more real, then so be it. _

'_Our eyes are different but we're both the same.' Rose told Narcissa at the end of the story. _

_Hermione blushed slightly and looked away, but Narcissa pretended not to fully understand. 'That's nice, dear. Will you go and fetch me another story? The one about the broomstick?' _

_When Rose dashed off, Narcissa turned to Hermione. 'Careful.' She said warningly. 'Children have a wonderful habit of announcing everything you don't want them to.' _

'_I just-' she tailed off. _

'_I know.' Narcissa said firmly. 'Truly, I do. But you still need to be careful. Particularly with this one.'_

* * *

><p><em>She was dreaming about Ron. But not the nightmares she had forced upon her at first. These were memories. Beautiful memories. She leaned in to kiss him. But a cruel hand suddenly work her up from her dreams. She gasped slightly as she realised that this was the dark face of Rudis, his black beard scratching against her cheek. 'Get up.' He said roughly. 'You're being taken to the child.' She was always referred to as the child by others. Never her child. But thankfully, never his child. <em>

_At once, Hermione was terrified. 'Is she alright?' _

'_A fever.' Rudis said gruffly. 'She needs you, that's all. She won't be content with the maids. She keeps on asking for you.' _

_Had Hermione not been so worried for her daughter, she would have been delighted with the need that she'd had for her. Instead, she let herself be pulled up and put into a loose grey silk dressing gown and taken along down the corridor to her daughter's room. _

_Around twenty of them were already gathered around the bed, staring dumbly at the small pale child who was crying in her sleep. At once, Hermione ran to her and lifted her into her arms. Rose gave a small frightened mew, but when she saw that it was her mother, she clung onto her. _

'_What's up, baby girl?' Hermione whispered softly, expecting to hear something about a tummy ache or a sore throat. _

'_My head.' Rose cried. 'Mummy, my head hurts. It won't stop.' _

_Gently, Hermione started to unpeel her daughter from her so that they were facing one another. 'Rose, sweetie.' She said softly. 'Open your eyes for me?' _

_Her young daughter's face was contorted with pain. 'I can't.' She sobbed. 'They won't open. And it hurts.' _

_Hermione turned to the nearest maid. 'Have you given her anything?' She demanded. _

_Mutely, (as was expected), the maid shook her head. _

_Hermione ran her hands through her hair and held her daughter close to her. 'Get the Malfoy's.' She instructed firmly. 'They will find me some Healer's.' _

_The maids glanced at one another. _

'_Go!' Hermione yelled. _

_Rose nestled into her shoulder, wriggling with the pain in her head. Hermione felt completely and utterly desperate. Her daughter was in pain and she felt like she had no idea what to do. She couldn't fix it. How can you tell your five year old daughter that you cannot fix their pain? How can any parent tell their child that? Luckily, the Malfoy's were there within minutes – Lucius in his shirt and trousers and Narcissa in her emerald green night robe and dressing gown, with her blonde hair in a plait at the side. Narcissa knelt beside Rose and gently put a comforting hand on her back. Lucius went directly to Rose and asked her what she could see. _

'_I can't see anything.' She cried. _

'_Look harder.' _

'_Lucius!' Hermione and Narcissa scolded at once. _

_He raised his hands in apology, but continued. 'Rose, don't worry, you'll be able to see all of us soon. But I want you to look and see what you can see in your head now. It's like a dream, Rose. If you look then the pain will go away. Give it a go, yeah?' _

_Rose was trembling in her mother's arms, but she nodded determinedly. Almost at once, her mouth dropped into a little o and some of the contortion in her face was gone. _

'_A man is coming here.' She said. 'Lot's of men. And a woman. They're coming to the gate.' _

_Hermione gasped while Lucius nodded grimly and swept out of the room. Still clutching onto her daughter, she turned to Narcissa. 'Why? They've left us alone for so many years. Why now?' _

_It was true. Since Hermione had given birth to Rose, Voldemort hadn't really bothered with either of them at all. The Malfoy's paid for their upkeep out of their own pocket, and even when Lucius met with him there was never any conversation regarding his charges. Hermione had lived for four years in a determined blissful ignorance of Voldemort. She'd tried not to listen to the Death Eater's conversing with one another about their fight for power and the destruction that was brought with it. She'd always started when she heard a name of someone that she knew from the old days. For example, she learnt that Hagrid was taken after the battle to Gringotts and chained outside Voldemort's vault. Kept in darkness and in isolation as a guard to the treasure, it was rumoured that he had gone mad and that he was a brute and ready to kill anything that crossed him. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been forced to still work for the Ministry – his family held captive, while he was ordered to go and spy on the opposition. If he refused, they killed a member of his family. Eventually, the guilt became too much to bear and he blurted out what he was doing. He was killed on the spot. The Weasley's were still abroad. Voldemort was now the magical ruler over all of Europe, but they were still slightly safer in Germany than in Britain. There had been occasions where they had tried to get back in so they could rescue who they could, but Voldemort had always been waiting. Thankfully, they were skilled enough to quickly get away again without being harmed. _

_Hermione always tried to block out any mention of Voldemort's name. Whenever she thought of him, she could see so much of him in her daughter. The way her eyes would flash angrily whenever she had a temper tantrum, how clever she was at getting what she wanted and her early signs of magic. It made it so much worse that she knew that there was a piece of his soul in her. She'd often wondered that about Harry. The way he could see what Voldemort was seeing, could feel what Voldemort was feeling. As Rose was a Horcrux, Narcissa believed that she would be immortal and that she would stop growing when she came of age – but they couldn't be sure, Harry had died when he came of age and so they did not know if he could have gotten any older. She'd learnt that when Harry's soul had been killed, the piece of Voldemort's soul returned again to Voldemort. It had been this that made her realise that so long as she wanted her daughter to stay alive, he would also have to stay alive. _

_Hermione felt herself be dragged back to her room and shoved into her day clothes. They forced her onto a stool and tugged a hairbrush through her hair, while the other maids pinched at her cheeks to try to give it some colour. She heard a man's voice roughly tell her that if she tried any tricks, then it would be on pain of death. Had it just been her in this world then she wouldn't have minded, but she needed to stay alive to protect her daughter. _

_When she was pushed back into the hall, she saw Rose being led over, now looking less in pain, but with a little pout that told Hermione that she was frightened. Hermione tried to go over to pick her up, but she'd had her hands swatted away by a guard. _

_They were taken outside into the freezing cold, but Hermione marvelled at the fresh air and the feeling of the earth beneath her soaked slippers. Little Rose looked considerably brighter as she now looked around in wonderment, but as the cold wind whipped around them, both mother and daughter suddenly longed for the safety of the indoors. In the distance she could see a dozen figures in black cloaks walking towards them, the hems trailing off like smoke so that they all looked like ghosts. She shivered again, but this time not out of the cold. When Hermione made to stand behind her daughter, a guard tried to stop her but a look from Narcissa Malfoy made him step back again so that she could go where she pleased. She would not have her daughter be so exposed and under protected. They brought with them the smell of death. Burnt flesh, seeping wounds, dripping blood, final gasps of air. It was sickening. _

_The first one she saw was Bellatrix. She was surprised to see that she'd lost some of her haughtiness, and the woman no longer skipped around manically grinning. But by the way that her eyes were glazed over and her lips moved as if talking to herself, Hermione could tell that she was still mad. _

_The next one was Dolohov. His thin white face was twisted with the scars of battle now. Instinctively, she gently brushed her hand against the long thin white scar that ran across her chest. She had never known what that curse was that he'd sent that day, but even in its milder form she knew that she'd felt different ever since. _

_The Lestrange brothers. One lean the other brawny. Other than that, identical. They were chewing on their lips and curling their fists tightly around their wands. She noticed that Rodopholus' hand was made from metal. _

_The group seemed to go on forever. Continually arriving, she craned her neck a little to look towards the back where the new Death Eaters were apparating. Anything to delay looking into the eyes of Voldemort. _

_But there he was, at and the sight of him, Hermione wanted to scream and to gather her child up in her arms and run away. If she'd been alone she would have fought to kill him. But she needed to look after her girl. Yet, after the initial shock of seeing him, she found that it wasn't so bad. True, there was a knot in her stomach, but that old terror she'd felt was gone. While his followers all now looked a little worse for wear, Voldemort was meticulously well groomed and she sincerely doubted if he had any battle scars. He glided towards them all with an elegant laziness that only a man who thinks that he is well adored can give. _

'_My Lord.' Hermione watched as Lucius gave a slight bow, his silken blonde hair falling over his face like a curtain. 'It is an honour to welcome you again into my home.' _

_She supposed that he was telling the truth. These days it was an honour. But it didn't mean that he liked it. _

_Narcissa too had her head bent and her eyes downcast. She did not say anything, as she was inferior to the two men and could only speak if directed to do so. Hermione wondered how she did it. Stand so calmly in front of your son's killer and bow your head to admit your weakness. She supposed that in the end, it came down to survival rather than pride. _

_Voldemort continued to talk to his followers, but Hermione turned her attention to Bellatrix. Ignored by everyone else, she was rocking slightly and looked incredibly fearful as if she was about to be attacked. Hermione watched as Bellatrix stuffed a fist inside her mouth to stop her from crying out and even before she bit down hard on it, tears were leaking out of her eyes as she panicked. Her chest rose and fell erratically, and her eyes wandered frantically. It was clear that she needed help. All of a sudden, Voldemort said in a bored voice, not even looking at the woman. 'Take Bellatrix inside, she needs seeing to.' _

_Narcissa hurried to her sister's side as soon as she could and helped her into the Manor. As they passed, Hermione heard Bellatrix say. 'I didn't mean to – I just – I didn't mean to,' accompanied by the gentle hushing of Narcissa. _

_Hermione glanced down at her daughter, whom she'd been holding onto tightly for quite some time now. Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she stared at the party before her. Hermione wished that she wouldn't. Every time a child looked, they learned. _

_Soon enough, Voldemort turned towards them. _

_Hermione shuddered as he gave that familiar leering smile and the look that undressed her, leaving her uncomfortable and embarrassed. He walked towards them, but it was not Hermione he addressed first. Instead, he crouched down to be the same height as Rose and said softly. 'Hello, Rose. Do you know who I am?' _

_Rose glanced at her mother who didn't say anything. Shyly, she shook her head. _

_He smiled. It wasn't a surprise. 'I'm your daddy.' _

_As he said those words, Hermione felt sick, but Rose felt entranced. She'd never had a visitor before, and even though she'd been scared of him when he was coming towards them, now that he was talking in that soothing voice of his, she no longer felt scared. _

'_I'm five.' She told him. _

_His smile grew even wider. 'That's an excellent age to be. Are you all grown up now?' _

_Rose was delighted. Her mother and Mrs. Malfoy treated her like a baby. 'Yes.' She said decisively. 'Yes, I am.' _

_Voldemort glanced up at Hermione whose jaw tightened. She'd expected herself to cry, to burst into tears and to run away. But instead she felt a fierce pride like a lioness as she protected her cubs. Even as he gave her his evil grin, her gaze did not waver. She would stare him out. She would not be afraid anymore._

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><p><em>She was now back in her room. She'd put Rose to bed and ignored all her questions about her father. This was not how it was supposed to be. She'd always imagined that she'd be honest with her children about their father, and supportive of their maintaining a positive relationship even if she and he were no longer together. But this case was different. They never were together in the first place. <em>

_She was pacing. Rose adored him because he was new. Like all five year olds they saw a shiny new thing and loved it, and then discarded it when the next thing came along. But what if there wasn't a next thing? What if he was the only thing? What was she to tell her daughter? She couldn't tell her that she loved him. But then why have a baby with him? It was all too complicated. Her head hurt. _

'_Thinking of me?' _

_She didn't need to ask how he'd managed to get in without using the door or the loud crack of apparation. When Hermione turned to him, although she shook slightly, she felt braver than she had done in years. _

'_What do you want?' _

'_Do you always answer a question with a question?' _

'_Do you?' _

_He smirked. 'Well played.' _

_They were silent for a little while. She had nothing to say to him, and she'd foolishly hoped that he'd have nothing to say to her. He took a step towards her, and though she was tempted to take a step back, she stayed where she was. She stood her ground. _

'_Have you missed me?' _

'_No.' _

_He couldn't have been expecting a yes, but the displeasure on his face was real. He suddenly struck out and grabbed Hermione's face with his hand. 'Do not make me do something you'll regret.' He hissed. _

_Hermione's eyes stung with tears from the pain, but she continued to stare him out. Angrily, he spat and threw his hand away. _

'_Are they looking after you?' _

_What did he care? But it required an answer. 'Well enough.' She replied steadily. 'But I'm bored. I want to read. I want to go outside.' She swallowed. 'Rose needs to go outside.' _

'_Rose is fine where she is.' _

_She hated her name on his lips. _

'_Do you sleep enough? Do you eat well? Do you rest often?' _

'_Yes, yes and yes.' She said. She was tired. 'There is not much else to do here.' _

_He seemed pleased, but then again, Hermione could never be too sure with him. He was like one of those muggle toys she'd had when she was little. You wound the handle on the box and it played a happy tune. But then all of a sudden a little puppet man would jump out of the box and whack you in the face. During her thinking, she hadn't noticed that he'd gotten closer. She could taste his foul breath in her mouth. When his hands went to her waist, she pulled away. But he was stronger, he tugged back. Hermione tried to push against his arms but he held her fast. Soon, she was backed into a corner. One strong arm was pressed against her breasts to shove her against the wall, while the other was making its way up her robes. Furiously, she kicked and scratched like a stable cat. She tried to headbutt him, to bite him, to do anything that would make him stop and recoil. But he was so much bigger than she was, and so much stronger too. When he pushed himself up inside her, she screamed – but this time not from sorrow, but from anger. She was weaker than him. He was using her and she couldn't do anything to stop him. The two fought for a long time. He grabbed her head and smashed into the stone wall, leaving her unfocused and dizzy. He bit hard onto her lip as a mock of a kiss. When he'd finished, he pushed her onto the floor. Hermione cursed and picked herself up again and stared at him with a burning fury in her eyes. _

'_Don't forget what your job is.' He hissed. 'I need to live forever, and you will help me.'_

* * *

><p><em>Hermione was now locked in her rooms. He spent all of his time with Rose and she was not allowed to see her. When the sun began to set and it grew darker in her rooms, Hermione would be thinking of ways to get out. She needed to grab her daughter and run. She'd tried to prise up the floorboards, but ripped her fingernails to shreds instead. The window was barred and Voldemort was always prepared for her to try to run through the door when he came for his nightly visits once Rose had been put to bed. As they fought, Hermione wondered what he was teaching her daughter. What poison was he spilling her ear? When she was allowed to see her daughter again, would she be the same person? Or would her daughter now look at her with hate? Hermione was more terrified of that than of him. <em>

_But in desperate times, a new side if always brought out of you. She closed her eyes and waited for him to leave. He often pondered, as if he was watching her. Sometimes she could feel him break into her mind. If she made it blank then he would know that she was awake. So she gave him things to look at. Things she knew that would infuriate him. Sometimes she just gave him the most boring things in the world, like eating her meals or getting ready to go to sleep. Let him think her small minded. It worked to her advantage. When he left, Hermione waited for a few minutes just in case he lingered. Then she opened her eyes and bolted out of bed. As quietly as she could in the dark, she dragged over the trunk that held her clothes and put it in front of the window. She stepped onto it, and hauled herself up, clinging onto the bars. There were several attempts as she needed to be strong enough to hold on and to dismantle the bars with the other hand at the same time. Finally, she managed to push one bar out of the way but stifled a gasp as it clattered down the tiles of the roof and landed with a thump on the ground below. She waited for someone to come running out, but it seemed that no one else had heard it – or had at least decided to dismiss it. _

_Years of living inside with only exercise and nutritious food had left Hermione with a slender figure that girls like Lavender would have killed for when they were teenagers, and also surprising strength from having nothing to do all day apart from push ups. The small gap made by the absence of just one bar in the window would have been far too small for her before she came here, but now she slid through easily. It was December now, and in true British fashion there was a storm. Hermione clung to the bars absolutely frozen and her slippers sliding on the wet tiles. Slowly, she brought her leg up to her and removed each slipper and gently dropped them back in the room. Yes, her feet would be colder, but she needed the friction and her slippers would not give her that. _

_Breathing in and steadying herself, Hermione let go of the bars. _

_She hurtled towards the edge of the roof, and stopped as her bare feet met the gutter; it jolted slightly but didn't give way. Hermione glanced below and immediately wished that she hadn't. It was about eighty feet below, but it seemed like a black pit of darkness. It took all her courage to resolve herself into continuing. The rain continued to pour down and Hermione found herself soaked, with her hair and robes plastered to her skin, she bit her lip to stop herself from crying out with the cold and edged her way along the gutter, her frozen fingertips clinging onto the roof tiles. As she had never seen the entire outside of the Manor, Hermione did not know exactly where her daughter's room was. But she knew how to get there from the inside and she knew what the window looked like. This was enough. Soon enough, the gutter came to an end and Hermione had to pull herself up and cling to the groove of the tiles in order to carry on travelling. Every now and again the rain would cause her to slip and she'd stifle a scream as she'd nearly fall. She was also having to constantly convince herself that it was only the wind that was breathing down her neck. _

_After what felt like hours, she'd finally managed to crawl round to her daughter's window. Thankfully, although she was in bed – Rose was awake and looking through the window. When she saw her mother, her mouth went into a little o of shock but when Hermione put a finger to her lips she did the same. They both glanced towards the side of the room where one of the maids sat in her chair, fast asleep, her mouth open as if snoring and clutching an empty bottle of firewhiskey. For once, Hermione was pleased for their neglect. Rose got out of bed and padded towards the window to open it. The warmth hit Hermione hard and she gasped as she clambered in. _

'_Mummy.' Rose looked worried. 'Mummy.' _

'_Shh.' Hermione whispered gathering up the blankets on the bed which she then wrapped tightly around her daughter into a little cocoon. She was instantly reminded of how she used to wrap her as a baby. 'Sweetheart, I need you to be very brave for me right now. Can you do that for me, please?' _

_Rose's little face was one of worry, but there was such an intense trust there in her mother that Hermione knew that it was ok to continue. Hoisting her up onto her waist and adjusting the blankets some more so that she wouldn't get wet or cold, Hermione took one last look at the maid and disappeared out of the window. _

_Rose immediately gave a little mew of protest but hushed obediently when Hermione gave her a little squeeze. Climbing had been difficult before, but now with the extra weight of a child it was near enough impossible. One small blessing was that it was no longer raining as heavily as it had been. Hermione tilted her head around and looked to where the gleaming gates of the Manor stood. If she could just get beyond them they'd be in the woods and they could run. Where to hadn't been decided yet. But they just needed to. _

_Finally, Hermione managed to haul them both up onto the flat side of the roof. By her workings out, if they went along here to the other side and then climbed down they would be at the gates. _

_Freedom was near. _

'_Not so fast.' _

_Hermione whipped around with all the ferociousness of a lioness as she clutched her daughter closer to her. 'Don't.' She snarled. 'Don't come any closer.' _

_The father of her child glared back at her with a mixture of malice and triumph. 'I don't think that you're in any position to bargain with me.' He hissed. 'Hand me the child.' _

_Hermione took a step back. Under the blankets, Rose was shaking. _

'_You'll stay away.' She growled. 'I swear it. You will stay away. I am leaving, and I am taking my daughter with me.' _

'_She's my daughter too.' He said quietly. _

_Hermione gave a high and unnatural laugh. 'Your daughter? Your daughter? Don't associate yourself with her. Don't you dare.' _

_Voldemort met her eyes with a steady gaze. 'I'm warning you.' He said softly. 'Come quietly. You'd be ill advised to make a scene.' _

_Hermione swallowed but refused to allow herself to look frightened. Particularly when Rose snuggled into her some more. _

'_One.' He began. _

_They were so close to the edge. _

'_Two.' _

_Could she?_

'_One.' _

_Hermione ran. She heard Voldemort scream a curse and ducked as a jet of silver flew over her shoulder. Rose was now sobbing, but it would all be worth it if she could just get beyond that gate. _

_Another spell hurtled past her and hit the nearby chimney, which crashed over the path in front blocking her. With an angry scream, she turned and tried to run to another side but another spell was shot and the roof began to crumble. She back tracked and ran to another side, constantly hoisting up her young daughter. This time, she crashed straight into Voldemort who held her in his strong grip. _

'_Let me go!' She screamed. 'Let go of me!' _

_His strength was over-powering, she continued to struggle, but as usual it was all in vain. Soon, Hermione became aware that if she struggled anymore, both she and her daughter would fall off the roof to their deaths. He was literally holding them both upright. _

'_Please.' It was a broken plea. 'Please.' _

_Her world went black. _

* * *

><p><em>Something above her sparkled. A bright white gold. She reached up to grab it. Narcissa Malfoy gently took Hermione's hand away from her hair and soothed her. <em>

'_Hello.' The older woman whispered, stroking her hair back from her face. 'It's nice to see you again.' _

_Hermione felt groggy, and the foul taste that potions had left in her mouth made it quite clear that she had been drugged for some time now. Every part of her body ached. A throbbing pain on her chest told her that her old scar had opened up again at some point and had been re-healed. _

_But suddenly she started to struggle to sit upright. 'Where's my daughter?' She mumbled. 'Where's my daughter.' _

'_Shh. Shh.' Narcissa had tears in her eyes. 'Please, please, Hermione, you need rest. Just sleep a little while longer, ok?' _

'_Rose?' Hermione called out in a hoarse voice. 'Rose?' _

_From outside she could hear the chattering of people. And then the little voice of her daughter. _

'_Rose!' Hermione screamed. Without a second thought, she leapt from the bed and ran from the room, stumbling as she went. She heard Narcissa call after her but she did not stop. Hermione raced through the long winding corridors, hurtled down the marble staircase and threw open the heavy wooden doors. Instantly, she was met by the guards, and though she flung herself against them – they were too strong. _

'_Rose!' She screamed. _

_Her daughter turned to her. She was dressed in a little woollen grey travelling robe with black silk lining and a matching hat with a black feather on top of her fire-kissed brown hair. Her little eyes were wide with worry, her cheeks pale and pinched, her mouth trembling. She was in the arms of Voldemort. _

_He too looked at Hermione. But after a wicked smile, he said nothing and continued to make his way towards the carriage pulled by two black horses who were stamping their hooves with impatience. _

'_No!' Hermione cried. 'Don't! Don't take her from me! No!' _

_Rose looked uncertainly at the man who was carrying her, and then again at her mother. She looked at a loss as to what to do, and although she desperately wanted to cry, she raised her hand and gave a little wave. _

'_You will not keep us apart!' _

_Voldemort turned. 'I think you'll find, my dear,' he said coolly, 'that I can.' _

_The carriage door was opened, and, realising that this was it, Rose cried out. 'Mummy! Mummy!' _

_Hermione frantically beat the guards with her fists, kicked them, bit them, did whatever she could – but there were four of them grabbing onto her to stop her from getting her daughter. But she wouldn't give up. Voldemort bundled Rose into the carriage and closed the door behind him. The carriage began to take off at high speed, and Hermione wriggled free. She ran as fast as she could to catch up with them. She needed to get her daughter. She needed to get her daughter._

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><p><strong>Just in case that confused you - that was five years on had I continued with The Darkness Had Won. xx<strong>


	21. And I will raise her to the light

**Oh gosh I have not been writing for ages. Ok, last chapter confused some of you. So I'm getting the wise guy to try to explain it for you instead. But mainly, I want you all to come to your own conclusions and your own thoughts and theories about this story. I don't want to dictate it to you; I want you to think about what really happened for yourself rather than me just spoon-feeding you. I'm glad that you enjoyed it. Xx**

* * *

><p>She didn't really feel anything. The banging pain in her head was gone; the back ache from lugging around two small children and a husband and now there was only warmth and comfort. She opened her eyes. It was familiar.<p>

'Where have I been put this time?'

Hermione started awake at the sound of the voice, but as she looked round, she was only met with the reassuring gaze and twinkling eyes of Albus Dumbledore. She smiled in delight to see him and allowed him to help her up.

He was not swathed in the usual fine attire that he had favoured in life. Instead, he wore a simple white robe threaded with silver. She noted that she too wore the same.

'I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Professor.' Hermione apologised as she fell into step beside him.

Dumbledore waved his hand. 'It's no matter.' He said breezily. 'I made a promise to every one of my students that I will always be there for them, and I don't see why I a small matter like death should intervene.' He smiled kindly.

Hermione glanced at her bare feet. 'Am I dead?' She whispered softly.

'No.' He took her hand in his. 'We're just going to have a little chat you and I.'

Hermione directed him over to a bench by one of the walls. Dumbledore chuckled at this. 'You seem to have got your bearings very quickly.' He observed. 'Where are we?'

The small little red brick building was unmistakable with its grey tiled roof and greenery threading around it. Opposite were train tracks.

'Charing Station.' Hermione laughed a little. 'It's near where I lived as a child. I would wait here for my father to come home when we worked up in London for a few years.' She gave him a sideways smile. 'It's where I first encountered you, Professor.'

He chuckled again. 'Of course it is. I believe I came over to you and your parents and asked if I could have a cup of tea at their house. Very hospitable they were too.'

A fond silence fell over the pair of them.

'So,' Dumbledore began, 'it seems, Miss Granger – oh, do forgive me, I forget that you are now grown and married. An old man never gets used to that. It seems, that your two lives are beginning to collide with one another.'

Hermione bit her lip. 'I always thought that we just got one shot at life.'

'True.' He considered. 'True. But there are cases were a single action causes something to split.'

'Like a Horcrux?'

'Yes, and no. As you know a Horcrux is reliant on being protected by its environment. A life exists. But like a Horcrux, it is not pure.'

Hermione sighed and put her head in her hands. She felt a comforting squeeze on her shoulder and looked up at the apologetic smile of the older man. 'I suppose you are wondering which one is real?' He said softly.

Hermione gave a bitter chuckle as she nibbled at her cuticles. 'It would be nice. I've been living in limbo for a long time. Which is stupid really. I know that it's not really happening, but it is, and I just get so confused.'

'The truth is that both of them are real.' Dumbledore said gently. 'When a prophecy is made, people tend to think that there can only be one path to take. The truth is that there is still a variety of paths to choose from but the content is still the same. Voldemort could have gone after the Longbottom's instead of the Potter's but he didn't. He chose to mark Harry as his equal instead.'

'But what was my prophecy?' Hermione interrupted. 'My life's too different-'

Dumbledore held up a finger to silence her. 'Prophecies do not announce lives, they announced life. What you have in common is the birth of your little girl.'

Hermione frowned as if she might say something, but Dumbledore pressed on. 'The prophecy announced the birth of one of the greatest magical beings of our time. You and Mr. Weasley have been concerned over the paternity of Rose. You are right. She shares both aspects of your husband and Voldemort in whatever life she lives. But with your nurture you can change the type of witch that she will be. No doubt you will also be wondering why it was you that was chosen.'

Hermione nodded. 'Bellatrix. She's a pureblood. And she loves him.'

'And she's married.' Dumbledore reminded her. 'There could not be any dispute over a child in which he would invest so much.'

'I've always thought that it was just further revenge and cruelty.' Hermione said softly. When Dumbledore didn't say anything she swallowed. 'I'm sorry, I just don't understand. He said he wanted a child so that he could live forever. He said that he wanted a boy.'

'Of course he did. Lord Voldemort is a clever man. He could not reveal his entire plan to you. It is true, he would have taken the life of new children to make himself immortal – but he also would have taken the magical power that your child would have brought to the world. However, he did not for a moment believe that it would be a little girl. That is why it took him so long to act.'

'I still don't understand. Forgive me, Professor. But why me? Why my child? I'm a mudblood.' She attempted the last word as a joke, but it just came out as a strangled cry.

'It is true that you have muggle parents. It is true that you have muggle grandparents. But hundreds of years ago your ancestors were the most magical of witches and wizards. Their intelligence knew no bounds. I am sad to say that the world grew jealous of their power and the incredible things that they could do, and soon it was no longer safe for them to continue. They put away their power and spread out into the muggle world. Muggleborns come about when magic has been suppressed for a certain amount of time. It skips some generations if you will. Squibs used to have to leave the Wizarding world – only to have magical descendents five generations later. You are so remarkably bright, not just because of your willingness and eagerness to learn, but because of the built up power that runs in your veins – in your daughter's veins.' He laughed slightly at the expression on her face. 'You are wondering what of your son? Hugo will be gifted – much like his father, but the prophecy was made for your firstborn.

You will also no doubt be wondering how Lord Voldemort discovered this – the prophecies being smashed in your fifth year, and until then the only person able to touch the prophecy would be the person on whom it was about. When Severus Snape overheard the prophecy about the one who would defeat the Dark Lord and then relayed the information to his master, I was, understandably, unimpressed. To win my trust again, Severus parted with various pieces of information that would help the Order. One piece of information that he didn't think much of was the prophecy of a child who was yet to come who would have powers that Voldemort could only dream of. He told me that Lord Voldemort had captured the Seer, Cassandra Trelawney, and it was she that he was learning all of this from. One of the last missions that James Potter went on was to rescue the dying Cassandra. She was very old already, and her time in captivity and had made her frail. But she was still able to warn me about this prophecy and others.

Why did I not tell you? The truth is, Miss Granger, I was not certain that it was you who would be the mother until your fifth year. The curse that you were struck with in the Department of Mysteries was not just a usual form of dark magic. By that time, Lord Voldemort was already seeking you out. That curse should have sent you straight to him in a most terrible and vulnerable state – non-verbal or not, but the power in you managed to resist. Resisting should have killed you. It nearly did. But you pulled through. It was then that I knew it was you who would be so affected by this prophecy.

Forgive me. I should have told you. You should have been prepared in your sixth year. I am afraid that I was so wrapped up in Harry being able to defeat Lord Voldemort that my time got wholly devoted to that. I reasoned with myself that if I coached Harry well enough, then you would be safe. Until then, I had you under protection. When Draco Malfoy tried to put the Imperius Curse on you to get to me, it bounced off instantly. When a second group of Death Eaters headed to Gryffindor Tower, they were unable to so much as head down the corridor. But that night when I died, so did my protection over you. Bellatrix chose to torture you that night out of sheer jealousy. She'd driven herself insane that the man she loved was chasing after one whose blood she didn't consider as pure. So why did I not tell Harry and Ron to leave you behind, even when I knew full well that their intention was to go off searching for Horcruxes? You were too greatly needed. Not purely as a bright witch, but as a friend.

Did you ever wonder why I left you that book? Of all the things, why a book of fairytales? The symbol that I had inked could have been carved into anything and you would have figured it out. I left those fairytales as an old sentimental fool does; I left them for you to instruct Rose in. Children always remember the teachings of the fairytales of their youth. I had often wondered over the years, how Tom Riddle would have turned out if he had been read a bedtime story or two.'

Hermione gave a glimmer of a sad smile. 'Professor, why do you call him Tom on some occasions, but call him his title on others?'

She was alarmed to see the wave of grief that washed over his face. He suddenly looked many years older, the face of a man who had seen far too much. She hadn't expected any reason for it really; it was just a niggling curiosity that had spurred her on to ask that question.

'I call him Lord Voldemort,' his voice began in a waver, 'when he was Lord Voldemort. I call him Tom, when I he was Tom. It is for my own selfish sanity that I do this. I need to believe that they are two separate people. I need to believe that Lord Voldemort is not the same Tom that I could have helped more when he was a boy.'

The pair sat in a reflective silence for some time. Hermione was still busy letting it all sink in. She had hundreds of questions all spinning around her brain and she didn't know what to ask first. And from the sounds in the distance from the coming train, she knew that there wasn't much time. As if sensing this, Dumbledore smiled at her.

'Let us recap. I do not know all the answers, Miss Granger. I am a clever man, cleverer than most I may boast, but there are some things that we will never truly understand. The centaurs have their own theories based on the stars. I have my own theories based on the people in this tale. I believe that there are many different pathways in our lives that we can take, and because of this our life splits. Some remember, some do not. You feared that your alternate life would swap with your life now, but it will not. The birth of Hugo at this moment in time has prevented that. I cannot promise your safety. I cannot promise the safety of your daughter. I cannot tell you that you will never find yourself in Lord Voldemort's grasp again, but what I can tell you is that you need to start living this life. You cannot be lost in a dream world. You have been strong for so many years, but sometimes the greatest strength is standing up and admitting that you need help.'

The train had arrived at the platform. Hermione wiped her eyes.

'It is not a sign of weakness.' Dumbledore said firmly. 'All of us from time to time need help. When you decide to seek it, look for this address.' From the sleeve of his robe he produced a small roll of parchment tied with purple ribbon. 'And how will your daughter turn out? That is up to you. Teach her what you know, cuddle her when she cries – all of the things that you are already doing. The prophecy talks of power. With your influence, it can be great power.'

With a gentle nudge, he propped her up and guided her towards the train. The doors opened and she stepped on shakily. Almost immediately, the train gave a little jolt as if it were getting ready to start again.

'Professor?' It was one more question. 'Is it always trains?'

He laughed. 'Not always. Your husband and I were waiting for a plane last week.'

* * *

><p>Voices. Murmurs and whispers. Sounds of beeping measuring a pulse. Smells of potions and freshly washed linen. Her mouth was dry. She opened her eyes.<p>

Her husband's face was white and drawn, premature lines of worry etched into his skin, hair greasy where it had not be washed in days and still dressed in the wizard robes that he wore to work. He held onto her hand, rubbing her fingers gently. When he saw that she was awake his face broke into a brilliant smile of relief and he kissed her on the forehead.

'Hermione.' Ginny was behind him, looking far cleaner but just as worried. 'Are you okay?'

She nodded and tried to sit up, but was gently pushed back down by the two siblings.

'Bed rest.' Ginny said firmly. 'And sleep. You might feel woozy now but you need to get your strength up.'

'My children.' Her voice was a strained whisper, unlike herself entirely. 'My children.'

'They're with Harry.' Ginny smiled reassuring as she squeezed her hand. 'They're fine. They just want their mummy to get better.'

Ron still hadn't said anything. He just looked so relieved that Hermione had woken up.

A Junior Healer bustled into the room. A beautiful black woman dressed in robes of yellow satin, and when she spoke she had just the hint of a Nigerian accent.

'Hello, poppet. How do you feel?'

Every part of her ached. 'Okay.'

'You can see ok? You can hear? Your head doesn't hurt too much?'

'A little. It just feels like a dull ache.'

'That's natural, sweetie. You hit your head real hard. There is some bruising, but the bleeding has stopped and the swelling has gone down. We'll keep an eye on you a while longer, but you should be ok to go home soon enough.'

The Healer tottered out of the room again, and Ginny came to perch on the bed. She was in her muggle work clothes. A fitted black jumper, cream pencil skirt and her long red hair loose around her shoulders. Beside her in a hospital gown and the scent of sleep on her, Hermione felt very unglamorous. As if reading her thoughts, Ginny pulled up a little bag from the side of the bed.

'It's your shower things.' She explained. 'We'll get you showered and changed into something new. You'll feel like a new woman again. Ok?'

Hermione smiled weakly. But her attention was on Ron. He still held onto her hand, looking so intently at her with tears in his eyes.

'Hey.' She said softly.

'Hey.'

'How long?'

'A few days.' He swallowed. 'I was beginning to get worried.' He tried to smile.

Hermione bit her lip. 'Do they know what it was?'

'One Healer keeps on wittering on about repressed memory overload, but that's the only theory that they have so far.' He squeezed her hand. 'We'll figure it out though, so don't you worry.'

He squeezed her hand again, and Hermione felt a curl parchment push against the inside of her fist. Had it been a dream? Or was it real? Either way, she slipped it under her pillow when Ron wasn't looking.

'You ok?' He asked.

Hermione nodded and let the siblings help her up. When she was showered and dressed into some of her own clothes, Ginny whipped out some make-up and did her hair for her too. All the while she made small chatter about the children, and eventually made her excuses to leave.

Ron held Hermione close to him. 'I thought I was going to lose you.' He murmured into her hair. 'I thought that you were slipping away.'

Hermione thought about what Dumbledore had said about how she would never find herself in that alternate. She smiled. 'I'm staying here.'

* * *

><p>'Mummy!' Rose and Hugo shrieked as Hermione came through the door of Harry's house. 'Mummy!' Hermione knelt down and the children smacked against her with a flurry of kisses and tall tales. Harry leaned against the kitchen doorway with his arms folded, grinning at the scene.<p>

Hermione looked up at him and smiled. 'Thank you.' She mouthed.

He winked. 'Come on kids,' he called. 'Let your mummy in, I'm sure she's dying for a cup of tea.' The children bounced off of her and ran past their Uncle into the sitting room where their cousins were.

Hermione carefully eased herself into one of the kitchen chairs as Harry started faffing around with making tea.

'How are you healing?' He asked.

She smiled slightly. 'Slowly. Slowly but surely. But I've got my babies back and that's all that matters.'

Harry grinned, and got out the sugar pot.

'Just one for me.' Hermione said rather pointedly. 'Just one.'

He laughed and slipped in the second one for her. 'Just say that you have two sugars it will be so much easier.'

'My parents are dentists!' She exclaimed. 'My dark fairytales were cavities caused by too much sugar. Besides, it makes me look healthier to everyone else.'

Harry crossed over to the table with the tea and took the chair opposite. For several moments they sat there in silence. Each too afraid to start to conversation. Eventually Harry started.

'You look well.'

She smiled faintly. 'I feel well. I guess I'm starting to accept that things don't always make sense and that I can't always control everything, or know the answer to everything. That used to terrify me. But now I'm fine. I guess.'

Harry held onto her hand. 'You've got me.' He said. 'You've got me.'

* * *

><p>Hermione took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The scroll that Dumbledore had given her contained an address and the words, '<em>she will help you<em>.' Hermione could only hope.

The door creaked open slightly and Hermione came across one of the people she thought that she would never have to see again.

Wrapped in a dozen glittering shawls and peering at her through those enormous glasses, Sybill Trelawney beckoned her inside with a hand decked in jewels.

'Er? Have I got the right place?'

Hermione's dislike for the woman had not diminished much since she was a teenager. They were two different souls; Trelawney lived in the clouds and deep down that terrified Hermione.

Trelawney said nothing; instead she just continued to beckon in the younger woman. Reluctantly, Hermione allowed herself to be hurried in to the alcove hung with purple velvet, red silk and cloth of gold. It was an Aladdin's cave of wonders: large jewels the size of dragon eggs glowed in the corner, diamond stars circled the air above them, books were stacked precariously high at seven feet and in the centre of the room were two chairs, a large table and a crystal globe.

Hermione stifled a groan as Trelawney beckoned her to take a seat. She'd never understood Divination and doubted that she ever would. McGonagall had been sympathetic; Divination was an Art that you had to believe in, in order for it to be true. The only thing was keeping her in the room, was the light hand pressing on her shoulder which she was sure belonged to Dumbledore.

'What do you see?'

Oh God, even her voice was annoying.

'Pardon?'

Her breathy voice sang again. 'What do you see in the orb, my dear?'

Hermione looked. A swirl of white mist. She rested her head on her hands and stared some more. She yawned. It was like staring into the clouds as a child, looking for odd shapes that you could put a label on. When Hermione began to feel irritated by the long silence, she sat upright again.

'I see white mist.' Hermione said bluntly. 'I'm sorry, I just don't believe in any of this lark.'

Trelawney gave her a smile which made Hermione want to punch her in the face. 'It is understandable.' She said dreamily. 'The works of your ancestors have made your past and future run free among the stars. You see the white mist because there is so much to see and you cannot see it all at once. How does that make you feel?'

Hermione frowned slightly. 'I don't know.' She shrugged. 'I don't even know what you mean.'

'I will rephrase it.' Trelawney said, her voice beginning to lose some of its ethereal quality. 'How does it make you feel that your life is split across the universe, jumping and falling and no constant flow of stability?'

'I don't think it is.' Hermione said stoutly.

'Really?' She now spoke in a normal voice. 'You've never thought that you've heard something before? Seen something before? Woken up from a daze confused as to what was going on?'

'Effects from the Time Turner.' Hermione retaliated stubbornly. 'They warned me about that.'

'That's true.' Trelawney conceded. 'But it still does not explain everything. Could you give me an example?'

She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. 'Um,' she massaged her forehead. 'I don't know. I have these dreams.'

'The same ones?'

'Always different.' She swallowed. 'Well, not always. Different lives that I could have lived. Again and again. At different times, in different places.'

'That must be confusing.'

'It is. It really is.'

* * *

><p>From that point, Hermione found herself going to see Trelawney once a week. They discussed dreams, something that Hermione was sceptical of at first, but then it was found to be helpful. Soon they were moving on to Occulemency, and Hermione was forced to admit that it was harder than initially thought. While she went out, Harry would often step in to look after the children. James and Albus would steal Hugo, and Lily would toddle after them, whining to be allowed to play too.<p>

Rose, on the other hand, preferred to be in the company of her Uncle. If he was doing work, she would quiz him about it. If he was cooking, she would insist on joining in. If he was on the phone, she would grab her toy phone and sit next to him until he finished up.

It was when he'd finished reading her a story for the night did she cling on to him and nuzzle against his shoulder.

'Hey, what's up?'

She shook her head and began to suck her thumb.

Harry gave a little sigh and pulled her up onto his lap. 'Come on, Rose. We don't have secrets, do we? What's the matter?'

'I don't want to go to sleep.' She frowned, looking astonishingly like her mother. 'I don't like going to sleep.'

Harry laughed. 'Is that it? Rose, no one your age really wants to go to sleep. But you have to. If you don't go to sleep you'll stop looking like a pretty Princess.'

'It's not that.' Rose removed the thumb from her mouth. 'It's the dreams. Bad dreams.' The thumb went back in again.

'Bad dreams are scary.' Harry kissed the top of her head. 'But they're only dreams.'

'That's not what you used to say.' Rose said. 'You used to say that they were real. You called them visions.'

Harry shifted Rose in his lap so that she faced him. 'What do you mean, Rose? When have I called them that?'

'Not now.' She said, fiddling with the bows on her nightie. 'When you were at school with Mummy and Daddy. You weren't supposed to be dreaming them, but you did.'

'Did Mummy and Daddy tell you this?'

'No. I just know. I see you all in my dreams. And I call out for you, but no one can hear me.'

Harry was concerned. He wrapped his arms protectively around her. 'What else do you dream?'

'I dream of a time long ago. Longer ago than anyone knows now. A lady cries and holds onto a man with red hair. They can't see me either, and they talk about things that I don't understand. Or I dream I'm in a place with walls made of golden sand and there are paintings all over them to show me where to go. Other times I dream that I am with a great lady who looks like Mummy and I learn magic as a big girl. I like those dreams. But then he comes.'

'He? Whose he?'

'I can tell you about him, because he comes in your dreams too. Even after all these years. He takes me into your dreams and he shows me why you are so sad. He takes me into his dreams too. He's always dreaming. He doesn't live anymore, but because he won't let go he won't die properly. So he neither is living or dead. He just is in dreams.'

'What does he look like?' Even though Harry already knew the answer.

'He's such a tall man, and his skin is as pale as marble. He's a man made of stone. He'll talk to me kindly and his eyes are pale blue, but then he'll get angry when I don't do as he says and his eyes go red.'

'What does he want you to do?' Harry said urgently. 'What does he want you to do?'

'I don't know. I don't understand. I start to cry and call for help and then I wake up. Does Mummy dream these things too? He says that she does.'

Harry was at a loss as to what to say. Was she just parroting a five year olds nightmares? Or was there something far more sinister lurking there?

'Uncle Harry?'

He looked down at her little innocent face. He hadn't seen anyone look at him like that in a long time. She looked at him as if he was the only one who could help. He kissed her forehead.

'I'm right here.' He cupped her face in his hands. 'And I'm going to do whatever I can to stop you from dreaming these nasty things, ok?' Smiling, he wiped the tears away from her cheeks. 'If you start to dream the scary things, think of me and Daddy and Mummy, and we'll look after you.'

Rose enveloped him into a massive hug. 'Thank you, Uncle Harry. You're wonderful. You're parents are very proud of you too.'

* * *

><p>'Bloody awful day at work.' Ron said as he barged through the door, kicking his shoes off and yawning. 'How Smith managed to get a job in our department I'll never know. His mum must have slept with someone.' He poked his head round the living room. 'Do you want a cuppa, Harry? I'm dying for one.'<p>

Harry was relaxing on the sofa. 'Go on then.'

'Alright.' Ron collapsed into the nearest armchair. 'Go put the kettle on then.' He grinned as Harry chucked his shoe at him. 'I was joking, I was joking. Just let me get my breath back first.' Ron rose and after mimicking being exhausted, moved round into the kitchen.

'Hermione back yet?' He called.

'Nah.' Harry yawned and stretched out. 'Just Mary Poppins here.'

Ron's head popped round the door. 'Who?'

Harry waved his hand. 'Don't worry. Don't worry. I was being silly.'

'If you say so.' Ron said cheerfully and moved back into the kitchen.

Harry leaned forward and ran his fingers through his untidy black hair, staring at the coffee table where numerous drawings by the children had been done. 'Ron?'

'Yeah?'

'Does Rose often have nightmares?'

Ron came back into the living room with two steaming cups of tea. Ron's cup said legend. Harry's said plonker. 'Oh yeah,' he grimaced. 'All the time. I'm hoping it's just a phase. She won't tell me anything about them, because she reckons I'll get hurt, but I still have to check her room for the bad man at least 3 times a night. She won't let Hermione do it, so muggings here gets the job. Why? Did she have trouble getting to sleep?'

'A little.' Harry admitted.

'And she told you what's been going on.' Ron said casually, taking a sip of his tea.

'How'd you-?'

'I can read your face like a book, Harry. It's why I win every card game against you. She told you what they are about, she freaked you out by what she said and now you're concerned.' He set his cup of tea down. 'I know that it's about Voldemort.' He said bluntly. 'The bad man. The man made of stone. And I hear her crying at night like you used to do. She's just as hard to wake up as well. He tells her that I'm dead. That's why she won't talk to me about it.' He gave a little sad smile.

'Let me help.' Harry said, suddenly with a burst of energy. 'I can help. I can teach her Occulemency.'

Ron frowned and shook his head. 'You can't teach it to someone that young. And while her magic is advanced for her age, it's not controlled. Anything could happen. In forcing back her dreams she could push them onto others. Or she could get rid of all dreams. It's too dangerous.'

'But-'

'It's too dangerous.' Ron said firmly. 'And Hermione would say the same.'

'Then how about this.' Harry pressed on. 'We get rid of Voldemort in her mind using our own magic. That can be done.'

Ron looked aghast. 'No it can't.'

'It can.' Harry confirmed. 'But no one does it. It's brainwashing, particularly with a child. But all you would have to do would be to get inside her head and to kill the virus. Simple.'

'I don't like this, Harry. You kill one thing, you might hurt something else. There must be another way.'

'Ron, it would be so much easier-'

'Subject closed.' He said firmly.

* * *

><p>About two weeks later, Ron was getting his family ready for his Departments family picnic.<p>

'Do we really have to go?' Hermione said, fiddling with the straps on her shoes. 'I mean, I have so much to do, Ron. And I want to support you; I really do, but is it really worth it?'

'Yes.' Ron said firmly, doing up Hugo's tie and making him squawk in process at the same time. 'Winning friends and influencing people is just as important.'

'Ron, you don't like any of these people.'

'Hermione, for the love of everything good in this world, please don't say that at this picnic.'

'Daddy, will there be other children there?' Rose asked, swinging the skirt of her dress round.

'For the hundredth time, yes.' Ron said, swooping down to kiss her on the forehead. 'Hermione, can you please redo her hair? It's gone curly already.'

'When I get my shoes on.' She said, humming under her breath.

Ron dashed over to the stairs where she sat, pulled the shoes on and buckled the straps, much to the amusement of Hugo and Rose, and lifted his wife to her feet.

'Please hurry up.' He implored.

Hermione laughed. 'Ok, ok. You go and get ready; I'll get the kids done. For goodness sake, Ron, relax!'

The annual picnic was its usual colourful affair with bright tents erected from brilliant gold cloth, entertainers running around with instruments and dancing and entertaining magicians who performed for the smaller children. Ron and Hermione met Harry and Ginny there and immediately the children went off to play.

'Don't go too far!' Hermione called after them.

Ginny smiled. 'Relax, Hermione. They never do.'

Soon, they were in full flow of idle chatter; meeting and greeting various families, making connections and swapping business details. Ron looked delighted with himself, while Harry looked thoroughly bored of being stared at as if he were a creature in a zoo.

Then all of a sudden there was a horrific crash and a terrifying scream. Panic ensured as people ran towards an enormous fallen tree, where nearby a boy of about ten lay howling in pain.

Deep scratches and blossoming bruises were all over his body and his leg was bent backwards. Strangely enough, the tree that had fallen was a few feet away from the boy, and yet there was dent in the ground around the boy as if it had fallen there first. Healers were by his side in a matter of seconds.

Children were running towards their families, James got there first.

'Who moved the tree?' Harry grabbed onto his shoulders while Ginny clutched Albus and Lily to her.

'It moved itself.' James insisted. 'It was on him, and then it lifted itself up and moved to the side. But Dad, no one had a wand. It was just us playing.'

'It was her.' Shrieked a boy with oily dark hair in the arms of a horribly aged Pansy Parkinson. He was pointing towards another child. 'He was teasing her and then she got angry. She made the tree fall and then she moved it off of him.'

The adults looked for the child he was pointing too. Looking very scared, and very guilty, Rose looked back at them all.

'Trees don't just fall like that.' One witch muttered to another. 'Dark magic pulls them up like that.'

Ron and Hermione fought their way through the crowd, Hugo in Hermione's arms, anxiously sucking his thumb.

'Come on sweetheart, it's alright.' Hermione said. 'Come on.'

Rose looked as if she might cry under the glare of about a hundred people. Ron scooped her up into his arms and shielded her from the crowd. As he passed Harry he muttered. 'Do what you have to do.'


	22. I swear to you I will be there

**Hello everyone, thanks for your support while I've been writing this, not entirely satisfied with it so I think I'll probably redo a couple of chapters and jig it about a bit! Anywhere here's the final chapter xx**

* * *

><p>Hermione had clung on to summer for as long as she could. 'Come on you lot!' she yelled over the howling wind and crashing waves. 'It's lovely and warm!'<p>

Her family did not share the same sentiments. Huddled together with large jumpers, hats, scarves and scowls, they stared at her as if she were mad.

True, the water was freezing. But it was still the summer holidays, and going to the beach was a summer holiday activity. A few years ago, her children would have leapt in regardless, delighted to splash each other in the water. What happened?

'It's the last day of the summer,' Hermione changed tactic. 'Please, let's do this as a family?'

'We still have some more school things to get.' Rose said crossly. 'We don't want the rush in the morning on top of everything else, I still need to pack!'

The only way to describe Rose was to say that she was blossoming. From a startlingly pretty child, she was growing into a great beauty. That's why Hermione could never believe it when people said how alike Rose was to her.

Helpless, Hermione looked at her husband.

Maturity suited Ron. The tall and lean physique which had made him gawky as a younger man, now made him more sophisticated and the gentle threads of silver in his crimson hair looked elegant. Hermione had expected them to get to a point where all they'd do was bicker and not have the passionate angry sex afterwards, but even after every fight she still deeply loved him. He was hers and she was his.

'Mum!'

Hugo peeped out from under his woolly hat, his nose red and runny. 'I want to go home!' He whined.

'Here's an idea,' Ron said loudly over the whinging children. 'We won't go in the sea, let's go scavenging!'

It was a popular past time that Ron enjoyed with them. Going to the beach and looking through for any interesting stone, coloured glass, shipwrecked jewels or old sailor's rope. Hours would pass that way and soon enough; the children forgot that they were cold.

'Look what I found!' Hugo yelled.

Hermione got there first. A grubby slice of green glass, no doubt come from a bottle.

'Put it down,' she fussed. 'It's dirty.'

'It's mine!' Hugo argued. 'It's my treasure, look Dad!' He passed it to his father. Ron paused and inspected it for a long while, Hugo wriggling in suspense. Hermione smiled at her son and ruffled his bronze curls. He was of a slightly stockier build than his father but everything else belonged to Ron; the long nose, blue eyes, freckles and sunny smile.

'Well?' Hugo said when he could take it no more. 'What is it?'

'It's an elf's light.' Ron said importantly, assuming the mystical tones that so reminded Hermione of Trelawney.

'A house elf?' Rose wrinkled her nose. 'Mum, you never said they have anything like that?'

'No, no,' Ron interrupted. 'Not a house elf. A pure elf.'

'I've never seen one.' Hugo said sceptically. 'They don't exist.'

'Oh they do,' Ron said, holding up the shard of glass to the minimal sunlight, its emerald reflections bouncing onto Rose. 'These shards of coloured glass are tied together, like a mobile, and hung in the trees of the forest of the elves. When someone approaches, the coloured reflections distort and the elves know to hide.'

'Wow.' Hugo breathed. 'Awesome. Can I keep it?'

'Wash it in the sea first.' Hermione firmly interrupted. 'And don't play with it, you don't want to cut yourself.'

Hugo shrugged and ran off.

'You got anything, Rose?' Ron asked.

Rose sighed and flicked her long curls over her shoulder. They were brown now but they would go closer to black in the winter and then red again in the summer. No wonder people thought she was a metamorphis.

'Nope.' She nestled against her father. 'Nothing and I wanted to take something to Hogwarts.'

Ron slipped a shell in her hand. 'So you can hear the sea.' He said cheerfully.

Hermione, however, was looking intently at her other hand. 'What's that?'

Rose opened her hand, a small smooth black stone in the shape of a triangle. 'I was carving it.' She said absentmindedly. Flipping it over, Ron and Hermione saw a mark they thought they would never see again.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, Hermione paused in Rose's doorway. Her daughter was leaning over her Hogwarts trunk, neatly assembling everything for tomorrow. For the thousandth time, she couldn't believe how quickly her daughter was growing up.<p>

'You can come in if you want.' Rose said indifferently, not looking up. 'I'm nearly done.'

Hermione came in and sat on the edge of the bed. Years ago it had been a soft pink – Rose like her name with a wooden crib and changing table and baskets of toys and books. Then after her constant pleading it had been painted a horrendous bright pink and her bed and wardrobe were an awful clashing purple. There'd been clashes between mother and daughter too, over the right to have a television put in the bedroom. Then came the tomboy phase of everything being blue and the instance of being called Ro instead of Rose and everything being about Quidditch. Now, little than a year later her room was a clean glorious white on which Rose and Hermione had gone around painting little roses, seashells and anything else that took their fancy. Her bedroom window looked out to the sea and on the ledge lay the ornaments that came from the scavengings – the last shell being in her Hogwarts trunk.

'I'm going to miss you, you know.' Hermione smiled softly at her little girl.

Rose turned and grinned. 'I know. It'll be hard loosing such a fabulous presence in the house.'

'I mean it.' Hermione pulled a laughing Rose onto her lap and began to tickle her. 'I'll even miss yelling at you to clean up your paintbrushes.'

Rose giggled. 'I'll miss you yelling.'

'I'll miss you going on strike.'

'I'll miss your burnt food.'

'I'll miss you dancing round the living room.'

'I'll miss you singing in the shower.'

'I'll miss you stealing my make up.'

'I'll miss you kissing me goodnight.'

Hermione stopped tickling her and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. 'I'll miss you.'

'I'll be alright.' Rose said, far braver than she felt, playing with her mother's hair. 'I'll do as I'm told, I'll make friends with the right people, I won't answer back – much, I won't pester James.'

Hermione just cuddled her.

'I know that you haven't wanted summer to end.' Rose said softly. 'But everything does. And it's just the season that's ending – not us. I'm always coming home, Mum. You're not losing me.'

Hermione smiled. 'Yes,' she kissed the top of her head again. 'Yes, I suppose you're right.'

* * *

><p>Later still, when Hugo was asleep in bed, Hermione went to tuck up Rose. She made a great fuss of her and insisted on reading her a story. Rose pretended she was too old for that sort of thing, but secretly she loved hearing her mother's soft soothing voice talking of dreams and dragons. Soon, Rose had nodded off in Hermione's arms, and yet Hermione still held her close, trying to savour every moment. They would be parted for so long, how would she cope? Her mind wandered to all those things that she'd planned when Rose was a baby. Places they would go to, people they would see, experiences they would share. She was not losing her daughter, but would she soon be too grown up to do any of these things? Hermione focused her mind onto happier things. Holding her for the first time. The first smile. The first steps. The first time she said mama. Meeting her baby brother. Dressing up on Halloween with her cousins and brother. Learning to fly on her miniature broom. Starting school. Losing the first tooth. Losing the last. Cooking with Ron. Reading with Hermione. Teasing Harry. Flying with Ginny. Pestering James. Being as thick as thieves with Albus and mothering Lily. Patiently teaching Hugo how to read. No, Hermione was not losing the child Rose. She would always be there.<p>

As Hermione got up to leave, Rose grabbed her, her face expressing confusion and fear. 'I keep on dreaming that I'll be put in Slytherin.'

There had been many moments like these over the years. Hermione often tried to forget them.

'Have you been trying to block these dreams like Uncle Harry taught you to?'

'But Mummy, it's so hard. I am trying. I dream that I go to Hogwarts and I am so happy, and then the man comes up to me and hands me a snake and I know that it means Slytherin. What can I do? What if I'm put in Slytherin?'

Years ago, Hermione would have said that all houses were equal. You had good and bad in every house. But with Rose it was a different story. She too had dreaded any link that would put Rose with Slytherin. Rose's history was beyond her understanding, but she had tried everything in her power to suppress it. Not even Rose knew the full extent of what was going on. She only knew that she was haunted in her dreams by a dark man, a very dark man who tried to get her to talk with snakes and told her stories that both enthralled her and terrified her at the same time.

The logic in Hermione was screaming at her to tell Rose that it would be ok if she was put in Slytherin, that she would still love her. Of course, she would still always love her, no matter what she did. But a Slytherin connection would be harder to sever.

But the Hermione who couldn't forget the darkness spoke. 'I'm sure you won't be dear.' She said smiling, and turned out the light.

* * *

><p>They met Harry, Ginny and their kids at the platform. Rose had insisted on dressing in her new school robes already, she was so excited. Hermione muffled a little laugh as she drew herself up against James proudly as if to say, 'Hah! I go to Hogwarts too now!'<p>

'Hi' Albus interrupted Rose's competition. She turned, beaming at him.

Albus was a sweet kid. A miniature Harry, although without the glasses and the lightening scar. He was in awe of his cousin, in awe of everything really which was rather amusing giving who his father was. Very polite and kind, he reminded Hermione of the Harry she first met in the compartment, shy and a little nervous but with a little ball of delighted energy about him.

James made up for Albus' shyness with his confidence. As soon as he could talk, he did not stop. As soon as he could walk, he pulled pranks. And yet, he did it with a face of such beaming innocence, it was really quite difficult to tell him off. Ginny had told Hermione of being pulled in to Hogwarts time and time again to attend meetings with the Headmaster over James' behaviour. James would sit there in angelic silence, his eyes wide in surprise and would very meekly apologize. At that, the Headmaster could never bear to punish him. But Ginny, having grown up with brothers of a startlingly similar attitude, had no problem.

Lily was the youngest and their only girl. The same age as Hugo, she had another two years to go before Hogwarts and was currently sulking about it. Lily was a replica of Ginny, but the pout was all Harry's.

'Parked alright?' Ron cheerfully questioned Harry. 'I did,' he puffed up his chest with pride. 'Hermione didn't believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you? She thought I'd have to Confund the examiner.'

Hermione whacked him on the arm. 'No I didn't, I had complete faith in you.'

She was lying through her teeth. Ron's driving skills left a lot to be desired.

A lot.

'I'm going to be in Gryffindor, of course.' Lily said; in a tone that quite clearly stated do not argue with me.

Hugo was more thoughtful. 'Ravenclaw would be pretty good though. I mean, it's announcing to the world that you're really clever, although Mum was in Ravenclaw.'

'Well you don't want Hufflepuff.' James teased. 'That's where the rest go. The people they can't think of anything for. The Hufflepuff's are basically the leftovers.'

'James!' Ginny said, swatting his head as some Hufflepuff students walked past, glaring at him. 'Shut up!'

But James gleefully laughed and skipped off.

'If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disinherit you.' Ron announced, 'but no pressure.'

'Ron!' Hermione snapped, remembering the conversation with her daughter. Lily and Hugo were happily laughing but Albus and Rose were looking solemn.

'He doesn't mean it,' the mothers said at the same time, waiting for Ron to apologize. But he was already distracted. Hermione watched as he caught Harry's eye and nodded over to the shifting mist.

'Look who it is.' After all these years, Ron still couldn't resist a sneer in his tone at anything to do with the Malfoy's. He was far less forgiving than Hermione.

Unlike Ron, Draco had not aged all that well. His hair was now silver almost transparent and receding which emphasized the long pointed chin. He was gaunt, his eyes haunted and thinner than ever. The others hadn't seen Draco in years, but Hermione had bumped into him quite often, why the sudden change? He saw them staring and gave them all a curt nod before ushering his family off. Hermione caught sight of the small boy and her stomach gave a jolt at how much he looked like the old bullying Draco.

'So that's little Scorpius,' Ron said under his breath. 'Make sure you beat him every test, Rose. Thank God you inherited your mother's brains.'

'Ron, for heaven's sake.' Hermione tried to hide her laughter. 'Don't try to turn them against each other before they've even started school!'

'You're right, sorry.'

She looked at her daughter, but Rose was still looking in the direction of the retreating backs of the Malfoy's.

Ron waggled his eyebrows at Hermione, then he put his hands on Rose's shoulders causing her to jump out of her daydream. 'Don't get too friendly with him though, Rosie. Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood.'

Rose laughed and batted him away.

'Hey!' James interrupted, his eyes gleaming with the promise of gossip. 'Teddy's back there,' he said breathlessly. 'Just seen him! And guess what he's doing? Snogging Victoire!'

Hermione wasn't surprised. She'd seen the pair in the summer playing at being Beatrice and Benedict. She knew that it was only a matter of time. Certainly the rest of the adults seemed to agree with her, because James got no reaction other than a nod of the head.

'Our Teddy!' James exclaimed, disappointed by the lack of reaction. 'Teddy Lupin! Snogging our Victorie! Our cousin! And I asked Teddy what he was doing-'

Hermione laughed. It was typical of her nephew. Ginny was right when she compared him to Ron.

As James warbled on about Teddy, Hermione took her daughters hand and gave it a squeeze. Despite all her excitement, Hermione could tell that she was now incredibly nervous. She knew. She'd been in that position before. Thank God she already had a friend in Albus though.

Ron put his arm around Rose too and Hugo nestled into her. Hermione knew that he would be distraught without her there to wind up. He'd made jokes about turning her room into a den and annoyed her terribly in the weeks leading up to her departure, but she was a constant presence in his life which was now to be limited to letters and the holidays. Hermione just had to hope that Rose was naughty enough to have reason for her mother to be called into the Headmaster's office to discuss her behaviour.

Their goodbyes were silent. You cannot put that in words. Their hearts held all of the memories. Their eyes the promise of things yet to come. And even though Hermione felt like a piece of her was leaving, she was so, so terribly proud of her daughter.

It was time to leave; they made their way to the compartment. Now in broad view of everyone, whispers began to rise up and everyone stared at the family. Hermione saw a slight smile creep to Harry's face as he tried to keep his head down, Ron, on the other hand, acted up to it.

'Why are they staring?' Albus demanded, still clinging on to his father.

'It's just me.' His Uncle persuaded him, tossing his head. 'I'm extremely famous.'

The children giggled. They could not understand why their relations were famous. They'd heard of good deeds done at work, but their fame was supposedly for something that they'd done when they were at Hogwarts. Whispers from other families had told them that Harry had defeated a man, but no one would ever say what he was called. No one ever spoke of it. It was as if it had never existed, so how could they be famous?

Soon, before Hermione had time to process it, the train was leaving. She and Harry walked along beside it, and even continued to wave long after it was out of sight. Although Harry had already seen one child off to Hogwarts, he hated farewells – even brief ones. Every time she saw in his eyes the last time he'd seen Sirius. The notion that people do not always come back.

Ron slipped a hand around her waist. Hugo was off playing with Lily, bored by the waving and emotional goodbyes – he would have a cry later in private.

'We've got a new chapter anyway.' Ron murmured, kissing her neck.

Hermione grinned.

'What new chapter?' Ginny wanted to know.

Ron looked at her pleadingly. She laughed. 'I just want to be sure.'

'But we are sure!' He exclaimed. 'The kids know!'

'Know what?' Harry asked.

Ginny gasped. 'You're not?'

Hermione grinned.

'She is!' Exclaimed Ron.

Ginny squealed and enveloped them into a hug.

'Guys?' Harry said. 'Am I missing something here?'

* * *

><p>Rose gazed up at the majestic castle in wonder. She was here. It was beginning.<p>

* * *

><p>Just a few miles away, at the dark rocks by the Lake everything was still other than the crashing rain hurtling down. The jagged rocks were as smooth as precious gems and as sharp as knives, their darkness gleaming threateningly in the night. And with the rain pouring down these slippery rocks, a hand suddenly reached out from the pit and grabbed one.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>The End<strong>


	23. Authors Note

**Hello, thank you for reading my sequel to The Darkness Has Won. Some of you are still very confused as to Rose's paternity and I will try and explain. **

**Hermione is most definitely her mother, and she shares traits with both Ron and Voldemort. Because she is a child split across different lifetimes she has two fathers and it is up to you, the reader, to decide who you see more of in her. It's like the whole Nature versus Nurture debate. However, Hugo is most definitely Ron's.**

**A guest review remarked that I used the phrase and then far too often. In a panic I reread the whole story and counted it four times in 22 chapters. However, even though the point about the plot holes saddened me, I do see your point - however, I do not wish to spoon feed my readers as I personally enjoy reading a story and coming to my own conclusions. **

**To tabitoo, you will be pleased to know that this is not the end. I actually have two more stories in the pipeline for this series: **

**Returning to the Darkness: As we saw in Chapter 20 'Your child will live within my care', the alternate universe was still happening and Rose was now in the clutches of Voldemort. I will return to this story. **

**The Darkness in waiting: And as you saw in the last Chapter, I left it on a cliff hanger. Literally, there is someone on a cliff heading for Hogwarts. This will be looking not only at the original trio but also their kids most importantly, Rose, James and Albus. **

**Thank you for your support over this year, I will be reworking a few more of these chapters (there have been some already redone such as Chapter 14 'Take my Child') as I am not best pleased with them. **

**Cannot wait to hear more of you reviews!**

**Please subscribe**

**Iwillsingyoulullabys xx**


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